


My Saddle's Waiting

by RealityBetterThanFiction



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Auto Show, Camaro - Freeform, Car Sex, Churros, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mustang, NSFW, Niall is the heart and soul as per usual, Racing, Semi-Public Sex, wagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 07:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15334752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityBetterThanFiction/pseuds/RealityBetterThanFiction
Summary: Harry smiled when the Chicago skyline came into view, its imposing cloud-scraping towers nestled into the edge of lake Michigan. The air was crisp and biting, as it was more often than not in the midwest in February, but that didn’t stop him from rolling his windows down to allow a bit of that infamous wind to fill his lungs. He put the pedal to the floor, cruising down Lake Shore Drive, weaving in and out of traffic as his pretty Shelby GT350 tore up the asphalt. Sometimes it felt like he spent all year waiting for this trip, the two weeks he got to play in the city of broad shoulders. The Chicago Auto Show.----When Harry finds himself in charge of Ford's installation at the Chicago Auto Show, there's already a lot on the line. Little does he know that a seemingly harmless bet on the fastest pony car might just up the stakes even more. With the help of a few familiar friends, Harry finds out that sometimes it's not about the destination, but who's along for the ride. And that Niall will not be denied his churros.





	1. Before the Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twopoppies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopoppies/gifts).



> This fic has been an absolute little monster to write. I started it a year and a half ago and it's finally done. To give you perspective, I started this when Niall was STILL BLOND. It wouldn't be what it is today without the help of my amazing squadron of friends who not only cheered me on but also helped shape the very plot. I will never forget that evening in February last year reading it aloud to all of you and everyone jumping in with amazing ideas to make it what it is today.
> 
> Massive thanks to my betas Lissie (phdmama) and Cynthia (myownspark) for championing this to its finish. Love to you both. I actually had the pleasure of eating actual churros with Cynthia the other day in celebration. It seemed fitting. Niall would have been proud.
> 
> This one in particular goes to my darling Gina (twopoppies) who I am so blessed to call my friend. My days would not be the same without talking to her. Here's hoping this silly little fic makes her smile.
> 
> ***Do not repost, translate, change names, or otherwise distribute this work on Ao3 or any other writing platform (such as Wattpad). I do not give consent, and without it, that is considered copyright infringement. I will report.
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry smiled when the Chicago skyline came into view, its imposing cloud-scraping towers nestled into the edge of lake Michigan. The air was crisp and biting, as it was more often than not in the midwest in February, but that didn’t stop him from rolling his windows down to allow a bit of that infamous wind to fill his lungs. He put the pedal to the floor, cruising down Lake Shore Drive, weaving in and out of traffic as his pretty Shelby GT350 tore up the asphalt. Sometimes it felt like he spent all year waiting for this trip, the two weeks he got to play in the city of broad shoulders. The Chicago Auto Show.

 

At the edge of the Loop, the McCormick Place stood proudly, awaiting the excitement that was about to capture the city in just a few short days. Harry had been sent out early from the powers-that-be in the Motor City to oversee the installation of Ford’s presentation at the Chicago show. Things had gone well at the Detroit show in January, with the unveiling of the new F-150. Harry had been the lead on its roll-out, and his higher-ups had been impressed enough with his work to let him lead Ford’s entire presentation in Chicago. It was the shot he’d been waiting for, working for,  _ wanting _ . And now he had it. Chicago was  _ his _ baby this year. Nothing was going to get in the way of Ford boasting the most innovative and exciting spectacle in the history of the show. Not on Harry’s watch.

 

He pulled into the underground parking lot at the McCormick Place and could see the chaos already well under way. Trucks from all the big makers had started arriving, world-famous logos stamped proudly all over everything. All the big boys were here to play...and to show off. Ford was no exception. It took Harry no time at all to find Ford’s team in the cavernous underbelly of the convention center, trucks waiting to be unloaded. All at his command. 

 

He cut the engine on his car when he pulled up to Ford’s legion, quieting her growl, and was immediately greeted by his staff for the week, all speaking over one another to inform him of the proceedings. The insanity had begun.

 

He held up a hand to quiet the buzz, gesturing for everyone from the Ford team to gather around. His orders were instantly followed, and the weight of that fact sat heavily on Harry’s shoulders. He had a lot riding on these two weeks. He was grateful that he had such a great team around him when it counted.

 

“Hi everybody, if you don’t already know, my name is Harry and I’ll be team lead for the show this year. I’m glad to see you all made it down safely,” he began, scanning his eyes over the crowd, drivers, mechanics, grunt men, and models alike. All wearing the Ford logo. “I’m really excited about this show. I think Ford’s going to blow everyone away here in the Windy City. What we’ve got planned, if implemented the way we intend, will spark a wave of excitement about the Ford line that we’ve not seen since the seventies. Everyone’s role, no matter the capacity, is critical to that end. I’m so thankful that you’re all here to help us move the Ford brand into the future. I can’t wait for everyone to see what we’ve got under our hood.”

 

A cheer rose up from the crowd, everyone sharing Harry’s fresh enthusiasm. Harry basked in the unexplored promise of it for a moment before he took the clipboard that was handed to him by his number two, Nick Grimshaw, and started doling out orders. After all, there was a lot of work to be done before ribbon cutting the day after tomorrow.

 

As soon as Harry was done with his directions, the Ford team bustled to life around him. Harry stood at the center of it and watched for a moment, Nick at his side, taking it all in. 

 

“So, Styles. You ready to be Ford’s new darling?” Nick asked, poking him in the ribcage. Nick had been Harry’s closest friend in the company for years now, since Harry had started as a lowly intern in Nick’s command, still a wide-eyed college student. Nick had taken him under his wing and shown him the ropes, pushing him along until he reached the very pinnacle of success in the company. Instead of the jealousy Harry had expected for leapfrogging his former superior, Nick had been nothing but supportive, a better hype-man than the one to come up with the nitty gritty marketing schemes for which Harry had been praised. Together they were Ford’s dynamic duo. Harry took care of details, and Nick added the flash. 

 

“I’m ready,” Harry told him confidently, a dimple inducing smile breaking across his face. “No one else is going to hold a flame to us this year. Ford is going to own this show.”

 

Nick nodded once. “Damn right, kid. With you behind the proverbial wheel, just like our beloved Ponies, we’ll be leavin’ ‘em in a cloud of dust.”

 

Harry laughed. “Save that kind of talk for the big stage, pal. We’ll need that mouth of yours to make our bad boys sound good. We already know they look good.”

 

Nick smirked. “Oh, so now you need my mouth? I guess gear speak is the kind of dirty talk that gets you going.”

 

Harry shoved Nick, earning himself a cackling laugh. After Harry had no longer been under Nick’s direct command, and Harry had inadvertently come out to the Ford higher ups in a meeting on a long winded rant about Ford’s chauvinistic approach to marketing, this kind of back and forth was pretty status quo. While Nick was a good looking man, Harry had never seriously considered exploring it. And Nick had recently nabbed himself an adorable boyfriend back in Detroit, with whom he was totally and completely enamored. 

 

“Watch it, Grimmy,” Harry growled as they elbowed one another back and forth on their way to the underground entrance. “Don’t ask for what you can’t handle.”

 

Nick snorted. “Just like that insanely tricked out car of yours, not many can catch you, eh?”

 

“So far no one has,” Harry said. Where it should have been proud, it was colored by a bit of something else. Harry had always been told that number one was a lonely spot, but it was hard to slow down long enough for anyone to catch up when his eyes were always on the horizon looking for what was to come business-wise. As such, Harry’s love life, since taking on more responsibility at Ford, had been pretty much a burn-out. Nothing but smoke and skid marks.

 

“Well, look around,” Nick said, gesturing to the wide range of gearheads from other brands that were overtaking the convention center. “If there’s ever a place to find someone who might be able to keep up, this is it.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. The problem with working in the auto industry was that it turned out to be a surprisingly small world. As these shows rolled across the country, the same faces popped up over and over again. It was practically a reunion at each convention, brand reps greeting each other like friends as opposed to competitors. 

 

In fact, one such recognizable face caught Harry’s attention, covered in manly scruff and wearing a black t-shirt with JEEP across the chest.

 

Harry had seen Liam “ _ Only In a Jeep _ ” Payne at every auto show since they were both interns at their respective companies. Liam was the stereotypical Jeep owner. Loved his Jeep. Loved hauling shit in his Jeep. Loved talking about hauling shit in his Jeep. Harry indulged the hours of Jeep-speak because Liam was so damn earnest about it all. He probably sold an entire car lot of Jeeps at every auto show with his single-handed enthusiasm. 

 

“Harry!” Liam hollered, tugging him in for a bicep-heavy bear hug. “How the hell are you? It’s been way too long.”

 

“Detroit broke down three weeks ago,” Harry informed him, still wrapping his arms around Liam’s bulk anyway. 

 

“Feels like longer. Love these shows, don’t you? Wait until you see the Jeep set up! We’ve got demonstrations and everything!”

 

“Let me guess. Jeeps hauling shit?” Harry asked.

 

Liam grinned. “Abso-fucking-lutely. Only…”

 

“...in a Jeep,” Harry and Nick finished routinely.

 

Liam looked so happy he might burst out of his slightly too tight shirt. “You seen Nialler around yet?” he asked.

 

Harry shook his head. “Just got here.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll be around. Honda’s on the other side of the convention center this year, so we won’t see as much of him, but he’s happy because there’s apparently a churro stand right next to Honda’s set up. He’s been texting me about these goddamn churros for weeks now. Apparently he waits all year for the Chicago Auto Show just because of the churros. I’ll never understand him.”

 

“I don’t even try anymore,” Harry said. “I just accept him for what he is. Honda, churros and all.”

 

“So who looks good this year?” Nick asked as they finally entered the convention center and scaled the escalator to the showroom floor, now empty but soon to be filled with the shining prizes from each maker.

 

“I’m sure Jeep and Ford will be two of the top displays,” Liam said confidently. “Heard Mercedes is bringing in some real beauties. Audi always comes ready to play. Porsche is gonna be weak this year, they save it for Geneva...snobs.”

 

“ _ Porsche _ ,” Nick and Harry both snorted derisively.

 

Then Liam looked in both directions as if he were checking to see if anyone was listening in, as if he had a secret. “But I’ve also heard some  _ other _ rumors.”

 

This was surprising. Liam wasn’t usually the source for salacious industry gossip. He was normally too busy waxing poetic about his beloved Jeeps to pick up on anything good. Nick was a fairly reliable source, but he hadn’t mentioned anything to Harry about big news. Yet.

 

“ _ Oh yeah _ ,” Nick said, also dropping his voice. “I know what you’re talking about. With Chevy, right?”

 

Liam nodded excitedly. “After the trainwreck in Detroit, they canned their head of marketing. Brought in an unknown to plan for Chicago last minute. Word is that it’s going to be...different.”

 

Chevrolet was a staple at any auto show...an  _ American _ staple. All across the lineup, they were competitive, from their Corvettes to their Volts. Their sales were always consistent, but what hadn’t been consistent were their showings at the conventions. Messy, rushed, boring. Chevy’s displays had been the least trafficked the past few years under the lead of their head marketing titan, Simon Cowell. The truth was that he’d gotten lazy riding off of Chevy’s dependable name, lacking innovation, lacking ambition. He’d given other companies like Ford and Honda the chance to catch up...and then surpass. Everyone had left the Detroit convention talking about Ford, and Chevy had barely been an afterthought. Apparently the top execs at Chevy had noticed and decided to finally take action.

 

It would be interesting to see what Chevy brought to the table this year under new leadership. Harry would have to stop by their display at some point, something he usually passed up.

 

“Do we know who their new number one is?” Nick asked, bringing Harry back into the conversation. 

 

Liam shrugged. “Heard something about a Tom? Or Tommo? I dunno. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” he said, pointing over to where the Chevy team was setting up. Already in its current state of sparse disorder it looked massively different than any other display Chevy had put on in recent memory. There were screens and stations with monitors all under the heading “Design Studio.” Some kind of interactive station? And the cars. Right at the front of the exhibit under a spotlight was the most beautiful Corvette Harry had ever seen. Cherry red and ready to race. 

 

And next to the ‘vette was the Camaro. The Mustang’s biggest contender. 

 

Harry took a few steps forward, leaving Nick and Liam behind talking about how best to control Niall’s churro intake. He didn’t want to talk about Niall’s digestive system. He wanted to see the Camaro. 

 

It was a shocking green. Almost repulsive. No self-respecting Mustang would be caught dead in that color. But it did draw attention, got people talking. Already Harry wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about that blinding color. Love it or hate it, you couldn’t ignore it.

 

Harry stood nose to nose with the muscle car that wanted to give his Mustangs a run for their money. He couldn’t help but see the car in front of him revving at the start up line next to his Shelby, just waiting to be put in its place.

 

“Krypton green,” a voice called from to his side. “Hot, isn’t it?”

 

Harry was about to ask the speaker how they dared to expect a Ford guy to admit a Chevy was anything but hideous when he got snared in a pair of eyes.

 

Deep impact blue.

 

Harry’s Mustang was that same color, but these eyes put it to shame. Harry certainly felt the force of impact—like a god damned asteroid—looking at this stranger. 

 

Of course, Harry’s smooth opening line was to say, “It looks like radioactive vomit.”

 

The man threw his head back, a loud laugh seemingly echoing around the entire venue. “Leave it to a Ford man to lack style.”

 

“Excuse me, my  _ name _ is Styles. I think I know it when I see it. And  _ that _ is not it. Why don’t you come over to Ford’s display just over there and see  _ real _ style.”

 

The man smirked, a brow lifting up into his messy brown fringe. Unlike the rest of the Chevy crew around him, he was wearing a tank top. In February. In Chicago. His right to comment on style was revoked as he was clearly insane. 

 

“Styles? So you’re Ford’s princeling, hm?” He looked Harry up and down the same way one would assess the body lines of a car.

 

“And you are?” Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“The one who’s going to dethrone you. With my Krypton green Camaro and all.”

 

“You’re saying you want to put  _ that _ up against one of my Shelbys?” Harry asked.

 

“Sure. Considering _that_ is my personal car. I know what’s under her hood. And I know it’s plenty to take on a Shelby.”

 

Harry’s face contorted in disgust to think that anyone, let alone this man, owned a car in that horrific color...or thought that a Chevy could take on Ford’s finest.

 

“I’ll take that bet any day,” Harry said confidently, stepping toward the man.

 

“You’re on.”

 

Someone from the depths of Chevy’s display called out, “Tommo! We need you!”

 

The man turned his head and raised his clipboard in acknowledgement. Then he looked back at Harry with that same damn smirk. “Looking forward to leaving treads all over your pavement, Styles. See ya around.”

 

With that, he marched away from Harry, leaving him to do nothing but watch dumbfounded. Harry thought that nothing could beat the rear view of a GT350. Watching his new Chevy nemesis walk away, he realized he was seriously mistaken. 

 

A slap on the back brought him out of his ass-staring stupor. “Hey Haz!” 

 

Niall Horan was at his side, first of many churros in hand, as he followed the direction of Harry’s stare.

 

“Ah. I see. You’ve met Tommo,” he said, grinning knowingly around a mouthful of fried dough.

 

“Tommo?”

 

“Louis Tomlinson, Chevy’s new point man,” Niall informed him.

 

Harry ground his teeth. “Yes. We’ve met. And we’ll meet again on the starting line where I’m going to show him just where he can leave those treads. Excuse me, Niall. I’ve got some Mustangs that need me.”

 

Harry strode off, irritation and something else mixing in his bloodstream like nitrous oxide, begging to be burned off in a blazing burst of heat and fire. 

 

Chevy would not beat Ford this year. And neither would this infamous Louis Tomlinson, no matter how beautiful his eyes and rear view might be. 

 

\-----  
  


By the time Harry left the McCormick Place after the initial night of set-up, it was well past two AM. He trudged down to the underground parking garage. Nick had already left an hour ago to see about making sure their hotel accommodations were all squared away at the Hilton. Harry had received a text with a thumbs up shortly after and was eagerly awaiting dropping into his nice, soft, king sized bed at the hotel, even if it would be for only a few precious hours of sleep before he was back at the convention center for another long day of work tomorrow.

 

As luck would have it, when he got down to the lot, his  _ do-not-pass-go _ trip to the hotel was halted by the pitiful sound of an engine attempting to turn over and subsequently failing miserably. It sounded like an old man hacking up a lung. As someone who was used to the throaty purr of a well-tuned V8, Harry winced in pain every time the engine sputtered and wheezed before dying again. It didn’t take much looking to find the source of all the racket. A broken down pickup truck was parked near Harry’s Mustang. Harry could see the lower half of a body from where someone was bent over the opened hood, tinkering with the engine. He recognized the skinny chicken legs before he even heard the creative curses muttered every time the engine failed to start. 

 

“Need a jump?” Harry asked as he approached the car.

 

The would-be mechanic went to stand up, but banged his head on the hood, letting loose another string of swears.

 

“Nah. She’ll turn over eventually. Just goes on her own time,” Niall said, rubbing his head over the newly formed bump. His dirty blonde hair was messy from the heat of the engine, sticking up erratically all over his head. He patted the hood and the engine kicked to life suddenly. “See?” Niall chirped, beaming. “All you have to do is give her a bit of love.”

 

Harry stood staring at the piece of scrap metal that Niall fancied calling an automobile. There was a high pitched hiss coming from the engine and a hint of worrisome smoke. But Niall didn’t seem bothered. He looked like he was actually going to attempt to drive this hunk of rusted car remains.

 

“Niall,” Harry said cautiously, still eyeing the truck as if it might tucker out again at any moment. Or maybe explode. “You work for one of the world’s biggest automotive brands. Why in God’s name are you driving  _ this _ ?”

 

Niall scoffed. “I  _ hate _ Hondas. I would never drive one of those death traps even if my very life depended on it.”

 

Harry thought Niall’s concept of a “ _ death trap _ ” wasn’t quite accurate.

 

“So why do you work for them?” Harry asked, absolutely perplexed.

 

Niall shrugged. “Pays the bills. I get to go to all the auto shows on their dime to hang with you lovely people. And most importantly I get an unlimited supply of free churros. My devotion is easy to earn if you know what cards to play. I’ll sing Honda’s praises all damn day so long as they keep me full of churros.”

 

“I do not understand your obsession with those fried dough sticks,” Harry said with a chuckle.

 

Niall looked like Harry had just offended his mother. “I’ll have you know it’s a lot more than  _ fried dough sticks _ . If you’d just try one you’d know. In fact…” He leaned back over the hood and grabbed a pile of wrappers from where they’d been placed on the fuse box. He thrust the wrappers towards Harry. “...here you go.”

 

Harry reluctantly opened the wrappers to find a half eaten churro buried inside. He bundled the wrappers up again and handed it back to Niall. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

 

“Your loss,” Niall said, taking the wrappers, unfolding them, and then shoving the rest of the churro in his mouth. With his cheeks full, he said, “Have you seen Tommo around? Supposed to give him a lift to the hotel.”

 

Harry’s aggravation level kicked up a notch at the mere mention of the Chevy point man that he had met earlier. He’d been too busy getting his own display set up and managing Ford’s contingency of reps to stop over to spy on Chevy’s showing, but the curiosity had been eating at him all day.

 

Honda’s set up was across the way from Chevy’s, so Harry was about to ask Niall what he’d seen of their highly anticipated display when a voice hollered out from the exit of the underground lot. 

 

“Nialler, you better not leave without me or I’m going to cut your brake lines!” Louis Tomlinson shouted, scuttling across the lot with a ratty old backpack over his shoulder. He was still wearing the tank top even though it was forty degrees out. 

 

“Wouldn’t do you much good,” Niall called out to him. “Brakes haven’t worked since the seventies on this baby anyway.”

 

Louis skidded to a halt in front of them, and then slowly looked Harry up and down. A smirk rose to his face. “Hi there, Mustang Sally.”

 

“Tomlinson,” Harry greeted him frostily, rivaling the chill in the air.

 

“Churro?” Niall interjected, offering their new arrival another churro seemingly conjured from thin air.

 

“Nah, I’m good. Wouldn’t want to deprive you, pal. But thanks,” Louis said.

 

While Niall immediately started inhaling the turned down churro, Harry figured he would bite the bullet. “So...how is your set up going?” he asked.

 

“Why don’t you stop by tomorrow and see for yourself if you’re so intrigued?” Louis said with a wink.

 

Harry sniffed. “I’m afraid I’ll be too busy. And I’m not intrigued. In fact, I would rather avoid seeing that gaudy Camaro you have on display.”

 

Louis laughed. “And I would rather not hear your damn Pony car revving it’s pathetic excuse for a V8 on the dyno across the entire convention center every time you want to show off.”

 

Harry quite liked that part of their display. Every hour they did a demonstration of the GT350 on the stationary dyno, pushing the engine over 150mph, letting her sing proudly at her top speeds. The air was filled with the smell of fuel afterwards, Harry’s favorite type of perfume. It was going to be the highlight of their display this year, sure to draw the crowds and attention.

 

Harry smiled smugly. “So you’ve noticed us?”

 

Louis narrowed his eyes, smirk fading into something a bit softer. “Hard not to.”

 

Niall looked back and forth between them, slowly chewing the churro. Harry barely caught it out of the corner of his eye, but he definitely saw Niall’s hand slowly reach into the inner workings under his hood and pull on a coil that looked sort of important. The engine immediately wheezed out of breath and died again.

 

“Oh damn, look at that,” Niall said, snapping his fingers in the most ridiculously unbelievable acting performance Harry had ever seen. “I guess I can’t give you a ride after all, Tommo. So sorry. I’m going to run back inside and see if any mechanics are still around to help me fix my girl up. But I’m sure Harry would be happy to give you a lift back to the hotel. After all, we’re all staying at the same place.”

 

Harry glared daggers at Niall. Niall smiled back winningly. Louis took one look at Harry’s Mustang a few spots over and snorted.

 

“I am  _ not _ getting in that thing. I might break out in hives or something,” he said. “Or maybe catch some kind of car-borne STD.”

 

Harry’s irritation only grew. “Excuse me, but I’ll have you know I have  _ never _ had sex in that car before.”

 

It was out of his mouth before he could even think better of it, and he instantly wanted to take it back. 

 

Louis’ face went positively wolfish. “No? Well that’s a damn shame.”

 

Harry couldn’t help it. He was a young red blooded man with an equally young red blooded—and roguishly attractive—man in front of him talking about getting it on in his Mustang. The images that flooded his mind were sudden and vivid and Harry needed to get out of here immediately before his own stick shifted into high gear.

 

Louis didn’t say, “ _ Would you like to change that? _ ” But in Harry’s imagination, that was how his fantasy began.

 

To break the tension, Harry stuttered, “I have a small back seat,” only digging his hole deeper...and only causing more of that red blooded desire to flood to his loins. “It would be a tight fit.”

 

“Yes. I daresay it would,” Louis mused, barely able to control his laughter. Then he gave Harry one last once over before he took a step back, posture going casual once again. “I’ll see you guys around. I think I spotted Liam lurking around here somewhere professing his undying love to a Jeep, I’ll catch a ride back with him. Much less likely to get herpes in a Jeep. Who wants to fuck in a box on wheels? It’s almost as undesirable as a Mustang. Later.”

 

He sauntered off, and Harry still might be living in his little fantasy, but he swore Louis’ hips were swaying much more salaciously than they’d done the last time he’d watched this man and his biteable back side walk away from him.

 

He was left speechless until Louis was back in the building, only the sound of Niall chewing and the distant sound of city sirens keeping it from silence.

 

“So about that jump,” Niall finally said, reaching over to reattach whatever wire he’d yanked.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry sighed. “I’ve got cables in my trunk.”

 

Before he walked away, Niall grabbed his arm. “You know...Mustangs and Camaros are both Pony cars.”

 

Harry looked at his friend’s earnest expression. “Yes. But the Mustang is the original. It defines the class,” Harry argued.

 

“Doesn’t mean it has to be the only one in it. There’s room for another pony in your stable, don’t you think?”

 

Harry bit his lip, looking back across the empty lot towards the doors. “Some ponies aren’t meant to be tamed. They’re better alone. That’s why they call them Mustangs.”

 

“And some ponies just need a friend. That’s why they call them Camaros.”

 

Harry looked back at Niall. “Not this pony.”

 

“Just need to get used to the saddle is all.”

 

“Niall. Please do not make a bareback joke,” Harry groaned. “Or a Brokeback Mountain one.”

 

Niall cackled. “You pulled the words right out of my mouth. Alright, cowboy. Get yer stirrups in gear and see about that jump, yeah?”

 

“Okay, partner,” Harry chuckled.

 

“Yee-haw,” Niall answered, slapping Harry’s ass as he jogged over to his Mustang.

 

That night when Harry got into bed, he didn’t immediately fall into sleep when his head hit the pillow. His eyes didn’t close for another hour. Instead they were imagining another set of eyes, the same shade as his car, rolling back in ecstasy in the backseat of a cramped Mustang.


	2. Day One

 

The first day of the auto show was always a triumph of sorts. After weeks preparing mock ups and days spent grinding through long hours of setup, it was surreal for Harry to see his dreams and visions finally come to their shining and supercharged realization. Dressed in a sleek navy suit, he stood at the helm of the Ford armada for a quiet moment before the press and select guests were invited onto the convention center floor for the black tie opening gala. 

 

No matter how many of these events Harry attended, it always made him nervous. Schmoozing press passes and pocketbooks had never been his strong suit. He was much more comfortable chatting with the mechanics and designers responsible for Ford’s creations, head under the hood as opposed to in the clouds...or up the asses of people whose opinions supposedly “mattered.” But even more than that, Harry loved talking with the everyday customers. The auto shows gave him a steady stream of hopeful car owners to charm into becoming lifelong Ford loyals. It was a competition among the brands, sure, but Harry focused on that special individual attention. His aim was that everyone who visited their display walked away wanting to join the Ford family. Success wasn’t in the traffic numbers at the show, it was in the sales spike that always followed it.

 

Harry smoothed down the lapels of his suit and took a deep, steadying breath. He stood facing the stunning fire red Mustang GT350 on the dyno display that would soon be revving its heart out for a crowd of thousands. Just the promise of that throaty snarl and bite of exhaust had Harry’s heart sputtering like a redlined engine. 

 

“They’re being let in now. You ready, Boss?” Nick asked, stepping up beside Harry.

 

Harry smiled at the Mustang. He imagined that sharp shark face of hers smiling right back at him.

 

“Let’s show Chicago who’s boss,” Harry said.

 

Someone else stepped up on Harry’s other side. “Then you’ll want to send them over to Chevrolet for the real race when Ford runs out of gas.”

 

Harry pulled his eyes away from the Mustang to look at Louis and found the sight just as show stopping as he claimed his Chevy’s to be. He was in a pale grey suit, crisp white shirt underneath left open at the top two buttons. Class with a bit of clash, just like his car. It fit him with precise lines, so slim and sharp that he must be aerodynamic. His hair was even swept up and away from his face, unlike the shaggy fringe he’d been wearing the past few days when Harry had seen him in his periphery with nothing but tank tops and vans. 

 

This look was something else. Harry slammed on the brakes and hoped to avoid a crash.

 

“It’s always a race with you.”

 

Louis shrugged, one structured shoulder lifting beneath expensive fabric. “Wanna bet on who has the bigger numbers today?” Louis asked, smiling impishly. 

 

Harry snorted. “What are the terms?”

 

Louis pursed his lips. “We can discuss it later. At the after party.”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how bets work.”

 

“Hm. Okay then, winner today gets to set terms for our  _ other _ bet.”

 

Harry had not forgotten about that bet. And now it seemed Louis hadn’t either. There was also the promise of “ _ later” _ for Harry to process. An open invitation. Harry tried not to think about the fact that the kick-off after party was usually drenched in alcohol, to the point where day two hangovers had become somewhat of a tradition for the brand reps at each show. Harry also tried not to think about how many more buttons might get undone on Louis’ shirt after he’d had a few drinks warming his blood.

 

“Whoever gets the highest traffic for the day gets to set the terms,” Harry agreed, jamming his hands in his pockets so they wouldn’t stray to Louis’ collar to start unfastening buttons preemptively.

 

“Deal,” Louis said. Instead of reaching his hand out for a formal shake, he swatted Harry’s ass and winked before sauntering away. He flipped his middle finger teasingly at the Mustang as a parting gesture. 

 

Harry could hear the roar of the crowd coming up the escalators as the first wave of attendees was about to crest on the show. Auto show numbers had never mattered to Harry before, but they certainly did now. 

 

He looked back over at the GT350 and then over at Nick. 

 

“Fire her up.”

 

\-----

 

By the end of the night Chevy roared in as the top trafficked display to everyone’s surprise apart from their point man. Harry figured he, too, should have known.

  
Harry tried to pretend that the news didn’t start his heart racing, but that would have been a lie. He hurried everyone through break down of the night’s festivities at top speed so they could all get to the after party that much faster. He was man enough to admit defeat, but it was more than that. He wanted to see what Louis was going to propose as the terms for their other bet. It would be significantly more helpful to have alcohol in his system to ease the whole encounter. He knew Louis was going to be an absolute gloating shit about the whole thing with this first taste of victory already on his lips.

 

But an hour later with the entire hotel bar filled to the brim with brand reps, Harry found himself playing a game of  _ cat and mouse _ instead of  _ cat that got the canary _ . After the obligatory and dull toast to the opening of the show from the Chicago Auto Club ambassador, followed by a more rousing and slightly slurred version from Niall standing on a table and talking into a churro like it was a microphone, Harry scanned the crowd again. While he’d seen Louis several times, each time he’d tried to approach him, the man seemed to flit off again, disappearing into the crowd after giving Harry a teasing wink. The last time he’d pulled his disappearing act, he’d even raised his glass at Harry in toast. A patronizing mock of what everyone else had done to him tonight, congratulating him for Chevy’s numbers.

 

“A toast!” Niall called out again. Harry groaned, turning back to the table where he had been sitting with Nick, Liam, Niall and a few other brand reps. Somehow, Niall had produced a tray full of shots, setting them down with a dangerous clatter on the table. 

 

“You’ve already done that tonight,” Harry told him.

 

“Yes. But I didn’t have  _ these _ when I did,” Niall answered, waving his hand largely at the shots. His suit was already askew, tie stuffed into his breast pocket. “That fact alone warrants another toast.”

 

Harry indulged him. He always did. He took one of the proffered shots, other hands reaching to do the same. Harry lifted it to his nose and sniffed. His nose wrinkled at the sharp cinnamon scent.

 

“What the hell is this?” he asked Niall.

 

“Churro shots!” Niall cheered, clinking his shot class against Harry’s before downing it in one gulp, quickly followed by another.

 

Harry followed suit and almost choked at the taste of Fireball burning down his throat. Everyone around the table coughed and sputtered after taking their shots.

 

Even Liam was red faced and wheezing, pounding on his chest over the Jeep logo. He’d thrown on a blazer out of obligation, but it did little to dress up the t-shirt, military grade cargo pants and combat boots beneath it.

 

“Another round?” Niall asked eagerly, already getting up to replenish their supply.

 

“Holy hell, that was horrible. Sorry, Nialler, but I like my stomach far too much to risk an ulcer,” someone to Harry’s left said amidst the coughs. Harry whipped his head around at the voice, room spinning just a bit at the edges from the already heavy dose of alcohol he had working in his system.

 

Louis was standing next to who Harry recognized as one of the Porsche brand reps. He had his suit jacket off now, shirt still impossibly as crisp as his perfect quiff and tucked into his trousers. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off tattoos along the fine bones of his wrists that Harry hadn’t noticed before. As predicted, two more buttons at his throat had been undone, displaying even more ink over his collarbones. Harry gulped.

 

He looked over at Harry and winked again and Harry was 1000% more drunk than he was seconds ago, no inferno shots needed.

 

While Louis had been skillfully avoiding Harry all night thus far, it seemed that he was only doing so until he decided for himself that it was time for them to talk. With all the airs of a prince gracing a peasant with their company, Louis approached. When Harry felt a hand placed low at the curve of his back, he startled.

 

“Care for a drink that doesn’t involve cinnamon and a certain hangover?” he asked, leaning close to be heard over the swell of noise in the bar. Harry tried and failed to repress the shudder that swept down his spine, ending right where Louis’ hand was still hot against him.

 

Harry nodded and nearly whined when Louis’ touch slid up his back to a much less eyebrow raising level. With that same hand, he led Harry toward the bar and away from their still coughing colleagues. 

 

When Louis wedged his way against the bar, he leaned over its deep, grainy wood surface and gave the bartender a devilish smile. “A sazerac for me, please, and a buttery nipple for pretty boy over here,” he said, thumbing at Harry’s flushed face. “Or would you prefer a blowjob, sweet cheeks?” he asked, directing that damn smirk back at Harry.

 

The bartender just laughed, probably well used to those kinds of jokes, and stepped aside to begin making their drinks.

 

Harry just stood gaping at Louis, unable to form words as a million indecent thoughts about back seat blowjobs raced through his mind.

 

Speaking of races. “So. I believe you won the honors of setting the terms,” Harry managed to get out, trying to change the subject. It was already bad enough he was going to have to down a shot named after a sex act in front of the most attractive man with whom he’d ever fantasized about having sex.

 

“Yes. Chevy was the talk of the night, wasn’t it? How does it feel not to be the center of attention?” Louis asked as he angled his body toward Harry.

 

Attention was a funny thing. You could have the entire crowd’s eyes on you, but unless one specific pair of eyes was amongst those gazes, it still felt like none of the praise mattered.

 

Harry shrugged. “I don’t mind a bit of competition, especially against a worthy contender. Just makes me work harder to get what I want.”

 

Louis pursed his lips. “And what do you want?”

 

“Chevy had the top traffic tonight. You’re the one who is supposed to set the terms, not me,” Harry replied.

 

“These  _ are _ my terms. I want to know what you’ll do for me if I win the race,” Louis answered easily.

 

That was a dangerous request. Very, very dangerous given the direction of Harry’s alcohol impaired thoughts.

 

Harry looked desperately around the room, trying to find something to save him from having to answer this question. Distraction came in the form of a ping on his phone, resting on the bar surface at his elbow. 

 

Harry fumbled to unlock his phone, trying to stall while Louis patiently waited. Instead of an escape route, as he had hoped, it was just a twitter notification from Niall’s personal account @HondaH8er.

 

It was a blurry picture of what looked to be two bare bellies next to one another. One was a chiseled-from-marble tanned eight pack beneath a Jeep shirt and one was a hairy and pasty spare tire with a pair of shamrock boxers peeking out at the waistband.

 

The caption below the picture read, “ **Jeep vs. Honda.** ”

 

At least Niall wasn’t drunk enough to send that from the official Honda twitter handle. He’d done it before, spewing his anti-Honda propaganda right from the source. It was a wonder he still had his job.

 

But it gave Harry an idea. One nearly as dangerous as all the other ones floating around in his mind, but less likely to involve orgasms. 

 

He ignored Louis’ curious gaze and started feverishly typing on his phone. When he was done, he turned his screen toward Louis, where the official Ford twitter account was pulled up. A tweet was drafted and ready to go.

 

**My first real crush was the @** **_Chevy_ ** **Camaro.**

 

“If you cross that finish line first, I’ll hit send,” Harry told him.

 

Louis’ eyes widened. Then he nodded, grin tucking into his cheeks. “Deal.”

 

Instead of shaking on it, they drank on it. With perfect timing, a pair of drinks were placed down next to them by the bartender. Louis lifted his classically cool beverage while Harry winced at the giant swirl of whipped cream on top of his. Before Harry could reach for his own drink, Louis tutted and pushed his hand down.

 

“Ah ah ah. Take it like a real man, Styles. No touching. Hands behind your back for me, now.”

 

Harry shivered, embarrassment painting his cheeks and neck pink. He was incapable of resisting, especially when Louis’ voice had that raspy undercurrent of authority. Hands clenched behind his back, he leaned down and fit his mouth over the lip of the glass. Sucking his cheeks in, with one quick swoop, the glass went bottoms up and the sweet shot went down Harry’s throat. Once Louis’ orders had been followed, Harry reached up and removed the glass from his mouth. A bit of whipped cream had ended up at the corner of his lips. Before he could wipe it away, Louis’ thumb brushed the spot and then went to his own mouth. 

 

“Mmm, tasty,” Louis said, licking his lips. “But I prefer something a bit more...salty.”

 

That was when Harry’s resolve completely crumbled. He started to lean forward, ready to nose-dive into Louis’ crotch. Thankfully Niall chose that moment to barrel up to them with another tray of churro shots.

 

“Body shot time!” he cheered. Harry didn’t have time to even bid Louis goodbye or thank him for the drink with a side helping of sexual frustration before he was pulled away.

 

The night proceeded to get messier from there.

 

Niall had even goaded Liam into body shots insofar as getting him laying down on the bar with his Jeep shirt rucked up to his armpits. With whatever kind of alcohol Niall had selected — likely more Fireball — poured in the crevices of Liam’s abs, Niall grabbed the first person passing by to do the honors. Liam suddenly came to his overly prudish sensibilities the second Niall shoved the poor Porsche brand rep’s face toward his belly button. Before any alcohol could be licked from skin, Liam was off the table with a flaming red face, a scowl for Niall, and a wet crotch smelling of cinnamon.

 

Harry had managed to avoid the body shots, but he couldn’t escape the three more blowjob shots that had been personally delivered to him by an amused bartender over the course of the night. Louis was, of course, lost to the crowd again, but Harry could feel a pair of eyes on him the rest of the night, attentively watching whenever he downed another whip cream covered shot without using his hands.

 

Except for the brief moment some time well past two in the morning when a single sentence was breathed against Harry’s ear.

 

“It’s mutual, you know.


	3. Day Three

Day three of the show was already shaping up to be an interesting one. Harry pulled into the underground lot after a hair raising trek through the city following after Niall’s pickup, just in case Niall needed saving. There had been a few close calls, mostly because of Niall’s faulty brakes and the overwhelming number of stop lights and stop signs that had plagued their path from the hotel to the convention center. But they had both survived and no pedestrians had been harmed. The only casualty had been Niall’s passenger side mirror, which gave up its life somewhere on State Street.

 

As Niall’s truck wheezed to a stop beside Harry’s Mustang, another piece of it surrendered. The front bumper clattered to the ground.

 

Niall exited his junk yard relic and casually ambled around to the front of the truck. He seemed unbothered by the fact that another part of his car was now no longer attached. He just picked it up and heaved it up into the bed of the pickup with a collection of other rust addled parts that had fallen off. Harry was sure a few of them were of critical importance to a functioning car. 

 

“Churro time,” Niall said conversationally. “Hurry up, Haz. A man needs his breakfast.  _ Fried dough sticks _ are on the menu,” he said, still surly over the slight.

 

Harry exited his Mustang after cutting her engine. He looked back and forth between the sparkly fleck of his car’s paint and the heap beside it, so rusted that it was hard to determine what color the paint had actually once been. 

 

“Are you trying to get a sponsorship with rust-ez?” Harry asked.

 

Niall gave him a lopsided grin. “CLR actually.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Kick it into gear! Breakfast!” Niall hooted, grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him towards the convention center and their food source.

 

Once they saw to filling Niall’s belly with no less than four churros, the day was allowed to begin. It was a pretty steady day at Ford, being a Friday and the first weekend of the show. There was still a lot of hype, people seeing the displays for the first time. They were still smoothing out some rough spots too, like the little hitch with the interactive robot that kept repeating the same phrase over and over again until the engineers figured out the bug. Harry had to hear, “Start your engines!” far too many times yesterday, so much so that he had heard it in his dreams last night. Then again, his dreams had been related to racing, so it wasn’t entirely out of context. A Mustang and a Camaro neck and neck, thundering down the streets of the city. Then it had transitioned to a hot makeout session in the front seat of a Mustang with that phrase purred into his ear. Also not exactly out of context, despite how unwelcome the owner of that purring voice had been in Harry’s subconscious.

 

He hadn’t had much time to even think about that notable raspy voice during the morning’s busy proceedings. The first time he really had time to think about Chevy’s point man was on his lunch break when he was listening to Liam nattering on about one of the Jeeps on display. 

 

Liam had just shown the crowd the demonstration, enthusing about how much weight a Jeep could haul. He proved it true when he pushed a button and dropped a huge pile of weights into the hollowed out back of a display Jeep. The frame groaned in protest, but the car stayed steady. Harry was honestly a little surprised the tires didn’t pop. Liam just grinned ear to ear as the crowd around the display clapped and marveled. 

 

“Only in a Jeep!” Liam cheered, to a raucous return of the sentiment. It felt a little too much like brainwashing for Harry’s taste. Especially when Liam started throwing rolled up t-shirts into the crowd, the aforementioned catch phrase emblazoned across the front.

 

“Impressed?” Liam asked a little breathlessly as he returned to Harry’s side after the display ended.

 

Harry almost expected Liam to drop down and start doing push ups. There was so much testosterone surrounding Liam and his Jeeps that it felt like Harry might go into a second puberty by proxy.

 

“Of course. Only in a Jeep,” Harry answered robotically, giving him a blank stared salute.

 

“Oh! Saved you a t-shirt!” Liam said and handed one over.

 

Harry looked down at it, already knowing he’d probably just end up using it as a wax rag for his car. It felt soft enough. At least Jeep hadn’t cheaped out on their freebies this year.

 

“Thanks,” Harry said, trying to be kind for Liam’s sake.

 

“They run a little small,” Liam told him, frowning down at his own where his biceps threatened the sleeves. “I put down a size large when they had us submit our sizes for uniforms, but they gave me all mediums for some reason. Weird.”

 

Harry looked at Liam’s chest, the Jeep name straining across muscle, then at the bevy of people also checking out the company logo so intriguingly advertised.

 

“Yeah. Very weird,” Harry said, sure it had been no mistake.

 

There was one face amidst the crowd that wasn’t looking at Liam’s pectorals. Only because he seemed to be looking at Harry instead. That familiar feeling of being watched tingled over Harry’s skin.

 

Louis was standing just to the edge of the Jeep display, cutting a casual form while leaning against a display car. Next to the hulking titan of metal, he looked even more slight than normal.

 

His eyes were still locked on Harry, and Harry wondered how long they had been there.

 

Harry surreptitiously elbowed Liam. “Hey,” he whispered. “Eleven o’clock. By the Rubicon.”

 

“Where?” Liam asked, far too loud, head snapping in that direction.

 

Harry sighed in defeat. Liam, like his Jeeps, had no subtly.

 

“Hey Tommo!” Liam called out as soon as he saw Louis, waving him over. “No need to lurk! Come check out the Jeeps close up!”

 

“Wasn’t checking out the Jeeps,” Louis said, approaching all the same.

 

Harry didn’t know why, but his heart deflated a bit. Maybe he had been wrong about where Louis’ eyes had been focused. Maybe Liam’s chest had caught his eye too. Harry looked down at his own shirt, knowing he didn’t fill it out nearly as well as Liam did his. Harry had things going for him in the looks department, but hulking muscle wasn’t one of them. He was a leaner build, more wiry. He looked good in slim fit jeans and a nice button up. And boots. Always his trusty boots. If Louis was more into the mesomorph type, Harry and his boots didn’t stand a chance. But was that a bad thing? It shouldn’t be.

 

Liam didn’t seem to notice Louis’ lack of interest in the Jeeps, or Harry’s momentary self-confidence slump. He just smiled winningly and produced another t-shirt for Louis.

 

“We’ve got tons of them!” he said. “Niall wanted one in every color.”

 

“This one is kinda the same color as my car,” Harry said, looking down at the blue shirts they had been given.

 

Louis instantly made a retching sound. “Looks good on a shirt, not on a car.”

 

“Same can be said for Crap-ton...I mean...Krypton green,” Harry bit back sarcastically.

 

“Oh!” Liam suddenly exclaimed. “Did you know we introduced a new paint color for the Wrangler this year? It’s called Punk’n! It’s orange. Isn’t that clever? Want to see it?”

 

Louis and Harry both looked over at Liam, who was bouncing excitedly on his feet and biting his lip as he waited for them to answer.

 

Louis sighed. “Sure. Why the fuck not. Lead the way, Punk’n Payno.”

 

“Yes!” Liam cheered, fist pump and all. “Okay, follow me. I’m on break anyway. We can cut the line over at the demonstration course where we’ve got the new model on display. You guys get a test ride and everything!”

 

“Wow. Aren’t we lucky?” Louis said, sending Harry a private smile as they followed Liam’s broad shoulders barreling through the crowd toward the massive obstacle course Jeep had laid out to demonstrate the trail rated prowess of their vehicles.

 

They were let through the rope at the start of the line like VIPs. Liam did a complicated looking handshake with a fellow Jeep fanatic directing the crowd and then a hideous orange box on wheels pulled up to the loading zone. The current demo driver hopped out upon seeing Liam. He and Liam did the same ridiculous hand shake and then he transferred over the keys. Liam held them in his palm like a precious gemstone.

 

With a roll of his eyes, Louis opened up the door to the back seat and gestured magnanimously for Harry to get in. Instead of getting into the front seat beside Liam, as Harry had expected, Louis followed him right into the back seat.

 

“Okay. Everyone buckle up!” Liam instructed, already in demonstration mode, before dutifully fastening his own seat belt. 

 

Once safety was observed, Liam fired up the Jeep and giddily rubbed his hands together before putting them at ten and two.

 

“Alright,” he cleared his throat, “Welcome to the newly upgraded 2018 Jeep Rubicon, boys. With a 3.6 liter V-6 engine, 285 horsepower, and full trail rating, it’s the most impressive Jeep model to date. Experience the spirit of freedom and the promise of adventure,” Liam recited reverently.

 

Louis crossed his eyes and pulled a face over at Harry, who held back a chuckle as an oblivious Liam pulled away from the loading zone. He started off toward the first obstacle. A nearly fifty foot tall ramp began the demonstration. Liam took it at a speed that put Harry and Louis back in their seats, grabbing for anything to hold on to as Liam laughed maniacally. 

 

“She’s really got grip!” Liam told them as they scaled the ramp. “Bigger brakes and 4 wheel drive help keep you on course up to an 80 degree incline.”

 

And then suddenly they were up and over the peak of the ramp, and Harry couldn’t help but let out a yelp as the Jeep went nearly perpendicular, staring down at the ground and certain death.

 

“Hold on!” Liam hollered as the vehicle started to zoom down the ramp. Harry flailed his arm out and grabbed Louis’ thigh, the sturdiest looking thing in sight. “Just kidding!” Liam laughed, as the car lurched to a stop halfway down the hill, taking the rest of it at a much safer pace. “The new Hill Descent Control system helps keep even the steepest drops safe by controlling speed and brake output.”

 

Louis looked over amusedly as Harry quickly retracted his hand to rub over his chest where the seat belt had nearly cleaved his clavicle in two.

 

A big thump resonated from the trunk space behind Harry and Louis’ seat and Liam looked back curiously through the rear-view mirror just in time to see a blonde-haired head pop up over the seat.

 

“Jesus Christ!” Liam hollered, slamming on the brakes and lurching them all forward against their seatbelts again. “What the hell are you doing back there?” he asked Niall.

 

Niall gracelessly crawled out from the trunk of the Jeep and wedged himself in the backseat next to Harry, pushing him even closer to Louis. He was polishing off a churro, and wiped his sugary hands on the upholstery of the seat. Harry had to unfasten and re-fasten his belt into the middle seat when they finally reached the bottom of the ramp. When Niall gave no indication of fastening his own belt, Harry reached over and did it for him. Judging by the bang they heard to alert them to his presence, Niall had probably already done irreversible brain damage. Harry wouldn’t be responsible for more of it with Niall unbelted in the cabin.

 

“I’m on break. Had to get away from the Hondas,” he said with a shudder as Harry fussed with his belt. He looked around the interior of the Jeep. “Hm. Surprisingly roomy. As is the trunk, by the way. Carry on with the demo, Liam. Sorry to interrupt. You were doing great.”

 

“Oh,” Liam said, flustered but quickly recovering. “Well, okay. We’re coming up to the terrain test now.”

 

Thank God Harry belted Niall in, because no sooner had Liam warned them, they were being thrown around the cabin as the Jeep went over all kinds of uneven bricks and stones. 

 

“Our patented Selec-Trac 4x4 system and 33 inch all-terrain tires with independent front and rear axles keep the ride smooth!” Liam told them, voice bouncing along with the bumpy terrain.

 

“Smooth!?” Louis cried.

 

Harry was thrown against Louis as one side of the vehicle went up a 45 degree angled wedge to test the suspension. Louis’ hands were instantly there to steady him. Niall looked unbothered as his head nearly smacked the roof. He just laughed like he was on an amusement park ride.

 

After their brains had been sufficiently rattled against their skulls, the terrain evened out to a crunchy stretch of woodchips.

 

Liam continued on with his well rehearsed spiel about manual or automatic options, but Harry didn’t hear him because Louis was whispering against his ear. “You don’t stand a chance of winning, you know. You should just surrender now. While you still have your pride.”

 

“My pride is fine, thanks. And me and my pride will take your ass any day.”

 

Louis looked down at Harry’s crotch, then back up at his eyes. “Is that so?”

 

“The Rubicon comes in hard top or soft top versions,” Liam cut in, “but I personally like the soft better. Nice to have a little breeze during the summer.”

 

Louis directed his answer to Liam, but his eyes were still on Harry. “I dunno about that, Payno. I think I prefer it hard.”

 

“I guess in Chicago, that’s probably a better option,” Liam easily acquiesced. “Now how about a demo of the new sound system?” he suggested.

 

With a flick of a switch on the dash, the bass of Imagine Dragons’ hit song,  _ Friction _ , suddenly filled the cabin, causing the windows to shake. 

 

Liam rounded the last corner of the demonstration course and suddenly there was a full flight of stairs eyeing them up.

 

“Oh no,” Harry gulped.

 

“Oh yes!” Niall cheered, pounding on the seat in front of them. “Do it, Liam! Woo!”

 

Liam gunned the gas and then they were racing towards the last obstacle. Niall was whooping and hollering like a high school cheerleader at a football game.

 

Amidst the chaos of the stair climb with Imagine Dragons’ lead singer still screaming about friction, Louis’ hand pressed down against Harry’s upper thigh. It could be an accident if Harry didn’t know otherwise based on the way Louis licked his fucking lips.

 

Harry’s groan was lost to the pounding beat. Louis removed his hand and then slapped at Liam’s meaty trap muscle over the seat when they came down the other side of the stairs flawlessly. Harry was left sweaty and shaking, wondering how he was going to adjust the erection that was barely constrained against his slacks without anyone noticing. It was practically blasphemy to get hard in the back of a fucking Jeep.

 

“Nice driving, man,” Louis shouted. Liam turned down the music as they pulled up to the unloading zone. He was grinning, turning in his seat to look back at them. “That was...exciting.”

 

Select parts of Harry certainly agreed with that.

 

“So, what do you think?” Liam asked, thick eyebrows nearly at his hairline.

 

Louis shrugged and threw a casual arm around Harry’s shoulders across the middle seat. All this physical contact only made everything harder for Harry. Literally. 

 

“Eh. I see the appeal, but it’s not really my thing, all this muscle. I like a sleeker model,” Louis told Liam, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “Plus, I like a smoother ride too. This thing is too bouncy. Too much  _ friction _ .”

 

_ Not enough friction _ , Harry nearly whined as he felt sweat drip from his hairline at the back of his neck.

 

“Well one thing is for sure, it’s better than a fucking Honda,” Niall told them. He shoved Harry out of the way, right into Louis’ chest, and leaned forward between the seats trying to touch whatever buttons he could reach before their time in the Jeep was over.

 

After wrangling Niall out of the Wrangler, they all parted ways. Harry had to subtly hide behind a Cherokee to adjust himself before he was presentable enough to go back to his duties. But as he educated eager attendees over at Ford about all the well memorized stats of their line-up for the rest of the night, all he could think about were the specs of a different type of model he’d like to take for a ride. Sharp turns, winding curves, and wide open road for miles and miles. The only question was whether or not Harry could hit the gas knowing that there would be no safety brake if the joy ride turned into a spin out.

 

\-----

 

When everyone was leaving later that night after the show’s close, Harry surprisingly found himself walking out of the building with an unlikely companion. Niall had made up some excuse about needing to wait around for leftover churros, and Liam had said he still had to put a few Jeeps to bed with a layer of fresh wax. So that left Harry and Louis on their own with a parting message from Niall to, “play nice, lovers.” 

 

It seemed that at least for the time being, Louis was taking that message to heart. Instead of making digs at Harry’s expense as he was so prone to do, Louis took the the opportunity to idly complain about “that pompous snob at Porsche,” as they weaved their way through the car park. They stopped when they came to Harry’s Mustang, parked alone at the back of the lot.

 

Harry had inadvertently parked it under an overhead fixture and the beam was shining down on his girl like a spotlight, making her gleam the same shade of blue that lived at the heart of a fire. They stood next to it for a minute and just looked. In his periphery, Harry saw Louis inexplicably pulling out his phone. 

 

The fake shutter of the camera app on Louis’ phone was loud in the quiet lot, and Harry turned to see what he had found to capture for this impromptu photo shoot.

 

Louis snapped another picture of Harry’s car from the rear three-quarter view — the best view — and then opened up the Instagram app.

 

It wasn’t his personal account, which Harry would be very interested in seeing, but the official Chevy one.

 

Louis cropped the picture, using a filter to make the car sparkle even more, and then captioned it, “ **Good car, nice little body.** ”

 

He showed his work to Harry, who stood there slack jawed looking down at his Mustang under the Chevy header.

 

“I’m raising the stakes. If you win, I’ll post this,” Louis said, tapping a button to save the post to drafts.

 

“That could be career ending for you. From the official handle and all,” Harry said, leaning back against the passenger side door of his Mustang, suddenly feeling a bit weak-kneed.

 

Louis smirked. “You didn’t seem worried about your tweet, though I daresay you should be. I’m not worried about this. That draft is gonna rot in my queue, seeing as  _ I’m _ going to win.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” Harry said, looking down at his feet, considering it was the only way to hide his smile.

 

Louis started to walk off, making it a few steps away, before he stopped and rounded back. 

 

Harry lifted his head just in time to see Louis with his phone up again, viewfinder aimed at Harry against his car.

 

“Another one for Instagram?” Harry asked, eyes narrowing.

 

“Nope,” Louis said. Then he turned and strode off toward the other end of the lot.

 

Harry fumbled his own phone out of his pocket. After checking that the shutter was quieted, Harry snapped his own rear three quarter shot just before Louis rounded the corner of a truck and disappeared from sight.

 

Harry looked down at the picture and smiled. It was dark and blurry, mostly because his hands had been shaking, but there was no denying that silhouette. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and headed for his hotel.

 

In the safety of his darkened room, Harry found just the right bit of friction he’d been desperate for all day, with that same picture pulled up on his phone screen and his teeth biting into his pillow. The name on Harry’s lips was muffled by the down feathers, but in the quiet of the room, it was as loud as a backfiring engine, cracking in his throat and hissing across his tongue.

 

“Louis.”


	4. Day Five

It was just past noon on day five of the show, almost through the first week, and Harry was looking forward to finally taking his lunch break. He’d been going since five this morning, flitting around Ford’s set up to make sure everything was running smoothly. Numbers were looking good so far. Based on estimates, they were one of the highest trafficked displays at the show. There hardly seemed to be any down time, with a steady stream of excited attendees _ ohhing _ and  _ ahhing _ over the shining Ford fleet on the showroom floor.

 

Harry was on his way to the break room, just passing their massive F-150, when he bumped into a familiar hunk of muscled bulk peeking sneakily over the bed of the truck.

 

“Here to scope out the competition?” Harry teased, elbowing Liam’s bulging lats. Did normal people even have those muscles? Harry wasn’t sure. But Liam had them, rippling under a bright green shirt emblazoned with JEEP in white lettering.

 

Liam yelped, nearly jumping right out his skin tight shirt, startled at the intrusion to his spy games. But when Harry looked in the direction Liam had been fixated on, he found that it wasn’t the F-150 that had caught his friend’s eye.

 

Porsche’s set up was just across from Ford’s, a collection of polished and sleek machines that looked more like space crafts than cars. Even more impressive were the equally polished and sleek models and brand reps that looked as otherworldly as their automobiles. 

 

One of the Porsche brand reps was circling the silver 911 at the front of their display, wearing an all black suit and tie with hair just as jet. His lips were pursed, eyebrows drawn, and hands clasped behind his back. As if he could tell he was being studied, his alluring eyes snapped over to where Harry and Liam were standing. 

 

The reaction to the glance was immediate. Liam collapsed to his knees like he’d been tasered, hiding behind the giant wheels of the F-150.

 

“Fuck!” Liam squeaked. 

 

Harry looked down at Liam’s crouched form, then over at the Porsche brand rep, who’s attention was already back on the 911.

 

“Um. Liam? I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think Porsche and Jeep are competing for the same demographic of the market. Your might be better served checking out Dodge or GMC. Unless this isn’t a work related stake out.”

 

Liam sighed, slumping down until his back was resting against the tire. His pout was pure puppy dog, and Harry found himself sinking down until he was sitting next to his friend with his back against the truck too.

 

“It’s... _ him _ ,” Liam whispered, eyes squeezed tightly shut at the admission.

 

“Who?” Harry asked, but it seemed a silly question.

 

A new voice joined the conversation. “The Model Z, of course,” Niall said as he climbed out of the bed of the F-150, churro in hand.

 

It was Harry’s turn to jump in fright. “Jesus, Niall! What the hell are you doing in the back of my truck? Why are you always in trunks?” He clasped a hand to his heart as Niall clambered down and sat on Liam’s other side, mirroring their positions against the truck.

 

Niall rolled his eyes, then nudged Liam’s shoulder. “I’m collecting intel for my pal. I’m on break and this is the best place to scope out the Porsche pretty boy.” He took a bite of his churro and peeked around the corner of the truck. With his mouth full, he gave them the play by play. “He’s still by the 911. No wait! He’s by the Cayenne now!”

 

Liam smacked at Niall’s chest. “Stop it!”

 

Niall glared at Liam. “No. Not until you find your balls and go talk to him. This is the fourth show I’ve had to watch you pine after him. Go take all these unnecessary pectorals...” he said, poking Liam’s chest, “...and snag yourself a sports car. Hot man sitting shotgun included.”

 

Liam looked as green as his shirt. “I  _ can’t _ ,” he hissed. “What would I even say?”

 

“Definitely don’t start with, ‘Only in a Jeep,’ unless you’re talking about where he can blow you,” Niall suggested. Harry had sudden visions of a few days ago when he had nearly suggested the same thing mid-way through a test drive.

 

This made Liam splutter. “I don’t want him to  _ blow _ me!”

 

Niall cackled so hard he nearly choked on his churro. “So you can blow  _ him _ . Whatever gets your gears going, bud. Point is...you need to  _ speak _ to him at some point. Because this behavior is borderline stalker, Jeepers Creepers.”

 

Liam sulked until Niall poked him in the chest again, this time with his churro.

 

“Fine. By the end of the show, I’ll introduce myself. But not today. I’m not prepared.” He looked down at his shirt and brushed off the sugar dust Niall had left. “I still haven’t gotten the larger size shirts that I’ve asked for, and I don’t want to talk to him wearing a shirt that’s about to shred. I’ll look ridiculous,” he whined.

 

Niall and Harry both looked down at Liam’s chest. 

 

“Uh. I don’t think ridiculous is what he’ll be thinking about your shirt...or what’s underneath it,” Niall said with a waggle of his brows.

 

Liam blushed fiercely, eyes going wide. “I’ve gotta get back to my Jeeps anyway. See you guys around,” he mumbled before darting off.

 

“By the end of the show!” Niall hollered after him. “Blowjobs in the Wrangler!”

 

Harry smacked a hand over Niall’s mouth to shut him up before any more filth came out of it. “Niall! There are  _ children _ around,” he snapped.

 

Niall yanked Harry’s hand away. “Yeah. Liam’s one of them. All these middle school playground games. Honestly.” He poked at Harry now, as if he was insinuating Harry was also participating in such immature behavior. Which was, well...rude.

 

Harry looked down at his watch. “I’ve only got a half hour left for lunch, wanna go grab a salad or something in the break room?” he asked.

 

Niall grimaced. “Hell no. I’ll leave the fruit and veg to you. Could use another churro myself.”

 

“Whatever. Won’t be on me if you come down with scurvy by the end of this show. Let’s go.” He stood up and then lent a hand down to help Niall up. Without looking back at the Porsche display, they made their way to the staff break room and the catering table. Once they had their fill, Harry with a nice chopped salad and plate of kiwi and Niall with three churros smothered in chocolate sauce, they found an empty table and chatted about how best to get Liam and the Model Z together. Niall suggested stealing  _ all _ of Liam’s shirts, size medium or otherwise. “Show off the goods,” he reasoned. Harry told him that wouldn’t work, because Liam would insist it was bad marketing since his brand wouldn’t be on display. Niall countered with the knowledge that Liam had his beloved logo tattooed on his back. Harry hadn’t known that, but Niall was all too happy to show him the proof on instagram.

 

“If only Jeep knew what an opportunity they were missing for advertising,” Harry said, inspecting the impressive ink and even more impressive canvas.

 

Liam’s instagram page, mostly filled with pictures of Jeeps at every angle like some kind of weird car porn, got Harry thinking about another Instagram page and what might be posted in a week when his Mustang crossed the finish line first.

 

He looked around the break room but didn’t see a shaggy fringe or tousled quiff anywhere. His watch told him he had ten minutes left on his break before he was expected back at Ford.

 

“I’m gonna go take a walk,” Harry told Niall. Niall was busy savoring his last churro and didn’t pay Harry any attention as he left his company. Harry took the long way back to his set up, which just so happened to take him past Chevrolet.

 

It was the first time he was seeing what Chevy brought to the show in full form. And he couldn’t deny it was impressive. It was also crowded with show attendees, excitedly taking in what the industry powerhouse had to offer.

 

Harry stuck to the fringes of the display, not daring to cross into enemy territory, but he found himself searching for his rival anyway. He knew Louis would be at the heart of the beast, and that’s exactly where he found him.

 

He was crouched down next to a young child at the design station, helping him create a digital car on the screen. Louis was smiling, tapping the screen while the child animatedly chattered to him about what he wanted his dream car to look like. When the pair were satisfied with their creation, Louis tapped the screen once more with a flourish. The monstrosity of a car, complete with huge rocket engines off the back and a shark fin on top, was up on the huge main screen about to race against a dozen other frankenstein cars that had been created by other kids. 

 

Louis laughed as the kids all cheered for their cars to win, beaming in pride when the shark fin car crossed the finish line first. After the race finished, Louis went around to all the participants and handed out Chevy logo bumper stickers, exchanging them for high fives and fist bumps.

 

Harry was absolutely and entirely charmed. And it was absolutely and entirely a problem.

 

He was so busy with the internal lecture he was giving himself for this unexpected surge of feelings that he didn’t see the object of those feelings heading his way.

 

“Defected already, hm?” Louis asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

Harry shook his head violently, curls flying everywhere.

 

Another laugh bubbled out of Louis, just as sweet and happy as the one Harry had witnessed a few moments ago with the would-be little car engineer.

 

“If you’re not jumping ships, then what can I do for you, hot shot?” he asked, popping a hip to the side. He looked official today, wearing a black Chevy polo tucked into black slacks. Harry was trying not to think about what the sleek leather belt did to show off his waist.

 

“I was just on my way back from lunch,” Harry informed him. 

 

“Oh,” Louis said, looking a bit let down for some inexplicable reason. His previous playful stance melted. “I’m just about to take my break in a few minutes.”

 

Harry nodded like a bobblehead. “The salad in the break room is really good,” he offered lamely. When Louis made a face similar to Niall’s at the mention of healthy food, Harry quickly added, “Although I hear from a reliable source that the churros are also of good quality.”

 

Louis scoffed. “Niall is  _ not _ a reliable source.”

 

“When it comes to churros he is, I assure you.”

 

“He’s not when it comes to dating advice. Let me tell you now,” Louis muttered.

 

“Oh?” Harry asked. 

 

Louis’ lips pressed together tightly and he cleared his throat. “Not that I need it,” he was quick to say. And was that a flush in Louis’ cheeks? Harry watched it rise with rapt attention. Louis had been so confident and teasing the past few days. So sure of himself. This was an interesting development.

 

It was the perfect opening. Harry had to know. Even just for curiosity’s sake. “So you already have someone then?”

 

Louis’ adam’s apple bobbed and he started to fidget, flicking at his fringe. “Well, no. But I don’t need Honda Hating Horan setting me up. I’m not as pathetic as Payne in the love department. I can be charming. When I want to be.”

 

“So what’s your move?” Harry found himself asking. “How do you charm the ladies...or...or fellows?”

 

Harry held his breath, always nervous in moments like this where it was all on the line. Louis’ eyes snapped up to Harry, watching him carefully. Harry was pretty sure of the answer given Louis’ past behavior, but he wanted to hear it validated. Needed to. “Fellows. It’s...it’s fellows,” he said quietly.

 

Harry smiled. That secret smile of understanding. 

 

_ Me too. _

 

“And I usually just offer them a ride in my car,” Louis finished, bravado right back. “Works every time.”

 

Harry snorted, unable to stop his stupid cheeseball grin. “That’s your problem, then. No wonder the fellows aren’t lining up. Maybe you do need Niall’s love advice after all.”

 

“Oh yeah? Care to make a bet on that?”

 

“I think we have enough to wager on already, don’t you think?” Harry returned.

 

A soft smile curled Louis’ lips. Harry watched it tuck into his scruffy cheeks and fought to withhold a sappy sigh.

 

He desperately searched for safer topics besides Louis’ dating life or his curves or his facial hair or his smile and settled on the only one he could think of. His gaze lifted over Louis’ shoulder and settled on the green Camaro, nearly invisible behind a wall of bodies. 

 

Harry looked down at the stack of bumper stickers that Louis was still carrying. He snagged one quickly. “Speaking of. If you win the race next weekend, I’ll put one of  _ these _ on the back bumper of my Mustang.”

 

“Offering to defile your car? That confident, huh?”

 

“Against you? Yes. Of course. Always.”

 

Their time was up, as Louis was being called back to work. But before he went, he peeled a bumper sticker off its plastic sheet and playfully slapped it against Harry’s bum.

 

“Hey!” Harry yelped as he spun in a circle like a dog chasing his tail, trying to get the damn sticker off.

 

Louis giggled. “Don’t worry! I’ll save one for your Mustang too!” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd.

 

Harry finally removed the sticker. Instead of throwing it in the trash, he bent down to the ground to pick up the plastic it has been stuck to from where Louis tossed it on his mad dash away from the crime scene. He carefully replaced the linty sticker and then stuffed it in his pocket, surreptitiously looking around to make sure he hadn’t been caught doing it.

 

Unfortunately, the Honda love guru didn’t miss a thing.

 

“Middle school,” Niall sighed, saddling up to Harry from seemingly thin air. With more churros. “I swear the four of you are completely oblivious. Do I have to do  _ everything _ myself?”

 

“Wait... _ four _ of us?” Harry asked, hustling after his friend. 

 

Harry spared one more glance back at the Chevy set up and caught a pair of blue eyes looking his way. 

 

As he hurried to catch up with Niall, he tucked his hand in his pocket and traced his fingers over the bow-tie emblem. It stayed in his pocket the entire rest of the day. And if he put it in his pocket the next day too, well, no one had to know. It would stay in his pocket and off the bumper of his car. Louis Tomlinson might be leaving his mark on Harry’s heart, but he wasn’t about to do the same on Harry’s beloved Mustang. There had to be a line somewhere.


	5. Day Seven

“I’m telling you, Niall. A few lettuce leaves won’t kill you. Nor will a slice of apple.”

 

It was the same tired argument that Harry had been trying since the opening of the show. A week later, it had just as much impact on Niall’s eating habits as it had that first day.

 

Niall actually stripped his teeth at Harry this time, guarding his precious lunch like a rabid wolf guarding the bones of its most recent kill. Harry pulled his hand back, worried Niall might try to snap at it if his churros were threatened.

 

From Harry’s other side, Liam rewarded his well intentioned efforts with a commiserating pat on the back. “If it isn’t fried and coated in sugar, it isn’t entering Niall’s digestive tract this week. Just give up, Harry. When we roll out to New York for the next show it will be thin crust pizza he has on the brain. Then clam chowder in Boston. Fried twinkies in Nashville. Bubble tea in LA. It’s a cycle. His digestive tract is made of teflon.”

 

“Churros aren’t even famous in Chicago,” Harry muttered petulantly, watching with disgust as Niall lovingly started murmuring sweet nothings to his lunch. The woman who manned the churro cart, a kind grandmotherly type probably pushing eighty, had grown fond of her favorite patron and made Niall a special order for lunch today ... a massive churro in the shape of a heart with pink sprinkles on top of the sugar. Niall had been besotted, with both the dessert and its maker. Her name was Edith, Niall had informed them, and he was contemplating marriage. Harry wasn’t quite sure whether it was the woman or the dessert to which Niall was planning to wed himself.

Harry had been told in no uncertain terms that due to his alliance with the healthier part of the food pyramid, he would no longer be serving as Niall’s best man for the nuptials. Liam had been all too pleased to step into the role...the bastard. 

 

They were back to bickering over the logistics of a wedding cake made of churros when Harry caught sight of Louis entering the staff break room. Already a crowd favorite, it seemed that everyone wanted a piece of Chevy’s hottest commodity, much like their show line-up.

 

Last night after leaving the show, Harry had found another Chevy bumper sticker tucked beneath the windshield wiper of his car. On the paper backing of the sticker, a small smiley face with x’s for eyes had been scrawled, as well as a poorly drawn checkered flag. 

 

Harry had it tucked into his pocket today, feeling it burn against his thigh as those blue eyes scanned the room and locked with his. The room seemed to be pulling Louis in all directions, but he was making his way in only one. 

 

Harry pushed out the empty chair beside him and patted his hand on the seat. Louis flopped down into it dramatically. Harry secretly smiled thinking of what he’d just put down on the seat before Louis planted his ass on it.

 

Niall mumbled an unintelligible greeting with his mouth full.

 

“Hey Tommo,” Liam translated.

 

“Hi Nialler. And hello biceps,” Louis answered, teasingly poking at where Liam’s muscles were threatening to shred the poor sleeves of his t-shirt. A gaudy orange today, much like the Punk’n Wrangler they had test driven the other day.

 

Liam flushed, biceps popping unwittingly at having been mentioned. From across the room, Harry caught a quick flash of golden eyes from the table of Porsche exotics. As intriguing as that sight was, Harry was much more concerned with the attention now being directed his way.

 

“Hey Stang Banger,” Louis said with a smirk.

 

“Chevy Heavy,” Harry returned.

 

Louis narrowed his eyes playfully. “Is that a crack about my ass, Styles?”

 

“Been too busy plotting ways to keep your logo off the back end of my car. Haven’t paid much attention to yours.”

 

Lies. Absolute lies.

 

Louis smirked devilishly.

 

Harry and Louis stared one another down, neither wanting to be the first to blink.

 

Beside Louis, Niall started retching. “I’m about to lose my lunch. And that would be an unforgivable offense.”

 

Louis rolled his eyes. “Don’t pout, Niall. Everyone puts bumper stickers on the back of Hondas. No reason to be jealous.”

 

Niall sneered. “Fucking Hondas. Soccer Mom Magnets.”

 

Louis chuckled, but did reach out to tug a surly Niall into a one-armed hug.

 

“Speaking of back sides of cars,” Louis began, “Niall...would you care to inform me as to why you were lounging in the bed of the Dodge Ram this afternoon?”

 

Niall painfully swallowed a huge chunk of fried dough and then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth to brush off the pink sprinkles. “Was collecting intel,” he replied easily.

 

“Right. Of course,” Louis indulged. “And on what exactly were you collecting intel?”

 

Niall rolled his eyes as if having to explain himself was a chore. He set the churro down with a frustrated huff and dug a sugary hand into his pocket. From it he produced a folded up sheet of paper.

 

He smacked it down on the table and pushed it over to a very guilty looking Liam.

 

“You owe me,” he said. “Payment is all the boba balls I want in my bubble tea when we get to LA. I think that’s a perfectly fair trade for helping to get  _ your _ boba balls some action.”

 

Harry leaned over to read the obviously valuable paper Niall had bestowed on Liam. 

 

It looked like...a spec sheet for a car? Why would Liam want a spec sheet on a Dodge truck?

 

But it took no more than reading the first line to realize that this was no ordinary spec sheet.

 

**_Make_ ** _ : Porsche _

**_Model_ ** _ : high fashion - just look at those cheekbones _

**_Year_ ** _ : 1993 _

**_Exterior_ ** _ : Blue Steel _

**_Interior_ ** _ : Cotton Candy _

**_Transmission_ ** _ : manual - good with his hands _

**_Mileage_ ** _ : single _

**_0 to 60_ ** _ : slow mover, prefers relationships to hookups _

**_Engine_ ** _ : turbocharged 4 cylinder - you should see the way he smiles around little kids _

**_Sticker Price_ ** _ : $$$$, but you can afford it...don’t sell yourself short _

 

Liam was studying the scribblings intently, eyes welling up a bit at the last line. He looked up at Niall helplessly and then stole a glance over at the Porsche table. He sucked in a breath when he found the object of his gaze was already looking at him. His eyes immediately dropped back down to the table.

 

“I...can’t…” he mumbled.

 

Niall poked him in his abs. “No. You  _ won’t _ . That’s the problem.”

 

Liam was up and out of his chair in a heartbeat, looking as panicked as a deer in the headlights of a Renegade. “I’ll see you guys around,” he blurted out. “The Jeeps...need me.”

 

“We’re not done with this, Punk’n!” Niall hollered after him, muttering to himself as he took another bite of his churro. Harry did note that the spec sheet on the Porsche Model Z had curiously disappeared off with Liam.   
  


“I’ve been a busy man,” Niall commented with his mouth full as they watched Liam hurry out of the break room door. “My services were also recently commissioned to draw  _ this _ up.”

 

He fished out another piece of sugar smudged paper from his pocket and placed it down on the table. 

 

**_Make_ ** _ : Jeep _

**_Model_ ** _ : underwear - anything where he has to be shirtless _

**_Year_ ** _ : 1993 _

**_Exterior_ ** _ : Batman _

**_Interior_ ** _ : Kitten _

**_Transmission_ ** _ : automatic - he’s as dependable and honest as they come _

**_Mileage_ ** _ : single  _

**_0 to 60_ ** _ : falls fast, stays forever _

**_Engine_ ** _ : V6 with a six-pack _

**_Sticker Price_ ** _ : worth more than you’ll pay - count yourself lucky for the deal _

 

“It secured me an unlimited supply of BBQ in Houston,” he told them proudly. “But I’m open for a deal when we head up to Canada. Love me some poutine. Any takers?” he said impishly, eyeing Harry and Louis.

 

“Who even are you?” Louis asked. “Do you even really work for Honda?”

 

“Of course I do, luckily for them,” Niall scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t supplement my income with a little side work.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t actually work for the CIA?” Harry asked.

 

“Nah. They couldn’t afford me,” Niall said, waving a churro. Harry wasn’t sure how Honda could afford Niall’s salary given his half-assed efforts to sell their product.

 

“Anyway, I’ve got to be heading off too,” Louis told them, making to get up to leave. “Stanger, I’ll see you and the Automotive Man of Mystery later, yeah? Dinner?”

 

Harry nodded his head automatically, wondering when it had become a foregone conclusion that Louis would be part of his life outside of work.

 

When Louis left, Harry watched in glorious satisfaction as Louis sauntered off through the room, hips swinging outrageously...complete with a pony bumper sticker stuck to his left ass cheek. 

 

Niall just rolled his eyes at Harry and stuffed the rest of his lunch in his mouth before leaving too.

 

About an hour later, Harry got a text from an unknown number raising the stakes to a tattoo of the Mustang logo in the very same place as the sticker had been should Harry win. 

 

**How did you get my number?**

 

**Can’t give up my sources, now can I?**

 

And then within seconds, a text from Niall popped up.

 

**FYI. Poutine is off the table. Sorry, pal. Already got me a taker. ;-)**

 

Harry ignored Niall’s text and sent his response to Louis, biting his lip to dampen his smile.

 

**I’ll need proof of the ink after I win.**

 

**So you DO want to see my ass.**

 

**With my beloved brand on it? Absolutely.**

 

Harry saved the contact with the horse emoji followed by the peach emoji. He had even more incentive to win now…and more fuel for his now routine late night fantasies, biting into the lush swell of flesh right over a racing pony. He came harder than he had in months after a furious shower wank session with the thought of covering that tattoo in his release.


	6. Day Nine

There was always that point at every auto show where it became a marathon instead of a sprint. It was usually in the last few days that Harry felt drained. The final push. As the days progressed, his duties dwindled with less fires to put out, but by then the monotony tended to set in. Things over at Ford had hit their stride and were flowing. Crowds were happy with the presentation and the executives were pleased, but it sometimes felt like a strange time warp. Same show, same cars, same faces, new city. 

 

With all cylinders firing, Harry figured he could afford himself a little break from the routine after day number nine. A nice soak in the hot tub with a strong enough nightcap to help knock him out seemed like the perfect reprieve. 

 

After a quick stop up to his room to change and mix up his drink from the mini bar, he headed down to the hotel’s indoor pool. Once there, he found he wasn’t the only one from the show who had the same idea. 

 

Liam was already well into a grueling workout of swimming laps. Harry saw the marker on the wall indicating that 44 laps added up to a mile and figured Liam would be occupied for quite a while in that pursuit.

 

Harry also spotted the rep from Porsche in the sauna by himself, eyes closed, head resting back against the wall, with his arms artfully draped across his chest. Through the steam, he looked like some kind of untouchable, ethereal being. Harry figured that probably wasn’t far from the truth. It was no wonder Liam was showing off, swimming faster than a speedboat.

 

Harry next caught sight of Niall at the far end of the pool wearing obnoxiously patterned swim trunks, what looked like mac n’ cheese noodles...or maybe they were abstract churros. It was hard to tell when he was practically vibrating with excitement. He gave an enthusiastic wave to Harry, and then took a running start, throwing his body into the air. He spread all his limbs out to execute the perfect belly flop, sending a giant wave of water in all directions, although it didn’t break Liam’s pace even one stroke. 

 

From the direction of the hot tub, a cheer was let out. When Niall’s blonde head surfaced from the water, chest pink from the slap of the water, the unofficial judge called out, “Woo! Nine Point Five Churros, Nialler!”

 

“Ten!” Niall argued immediately. “Who are you, the Russians?”

 

“Maybe if you’d stuck the landing, you’d get the extra points. I like a man with a strong finish.”

 

Harry quietly groaned. Of course his scant bit of R&R would have to be interrupted by Mr. Rated R. 

 

Louis was already in the hot tub, skin dewey with sweat and water beading over his chest, tattoos on full display. His fringe was damp and pushed to the side with wet fingers. He looked like some kind of ancient king, soaking in the baths waiting to be attended to by his eager servants. He completed that image by lifting a glass, much like the one dripping condensation in Harry’s hand, to his lips. His throat worked to swallow the chilled beverage, and as it did, his eyes met Harry over the lip of the glass.

  
He set it back down at the edge of the hot tub and said, “Now there’s a solid seven.”

 

Harry pouted, ambling towards the hot tub. He set his drink down and then unwrapped the towel from around his waist, revealing his bright yellow swim trunks with a hem that was flirting with the line of being too short. His plan was to ignore Louis, the best bet if he wanted any peace. But when he caught Louis watching him as he eased his body down into the blistering water, he couldn’t resist.

 

After Harry was fully submerged, jets already working wonders on his cramping back, he let out a deep sigh. A light dusting of snow had just started to flutter outside, and the windows that surrounded the pool area on two sides were steamed with condensation like their drink glasses. Through the fog, the haloed city lights sparkled. Harry closed his eyes and rested his head against the edge of the tub. 

 

“Your system’s rigged,” he said over the sound of bubbling water, unbothered now that the day’s stress was melting away. “Your opinion is moot considering you can’t even make an accurate determination of which pony car takes top marks.”

 

He heard the splash before the water hit his face. Harry’s eyes popped open in shock as he spit out a mouthful of chlorinated pool water. Louis was smiling back impishly, arms resting on the edge of the tub as if he hadn’t just been a petulant five year old only seconds ago.

 

“How does losing taste?” Louis asked.

 

“I wouldn’t know. Haven’t before. And I don’t plan on taste testing it any time soon.”

 

“Really? Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want a taste?”

 

Harry kept his gaze on Louis and reached out for his drink. He took a slow sip, letting the alcohol burn his tongue before swallowing it. Louis watched it with rapt attention, previous smirk turning a bit darker. A droplet of water, or maybe it was sweat, trailed down Louis’ temple. Harry tracked it as he took another long pull from his glass.

 

When Harry set it back down again, Louis said, “So a gin and tonic man, huh?”

 

“Yes. Unfortunately blow job shots aren’t exactly my drink of choice.”

 

“Shame. They’re my favorite. To give and receive.”

 

Harry spit out his mouthful again, precious alcohol dribbling down his chin. Louis just chortled, eyes crinkling and head thrown back.

 

“You’re too easy to tease,” Louis finally replied fondly.

 

Harry hoped the blush in his cheeks could be excused by the heat of the water.

 

“And you’re far too keen on doing the teasing.”

 

“As if you don’t like it.”

 

“I don’t,” Harry grumbled.

 

Louis smiled, knowing as well as Harry that it was a lie.

 

“Speaking of teasing,” Harry continued, “are the barrage of Chevy bumper stickers going to stop mysteriously finding themselves slipped under my hotel door...or under my windshield wipers...or stuck to the back of my shirt anytime soon?”

 

Louis tapped his chin with a finger. “I guess I can relent on that considering the bet has progressed beyond it to body art.”

 

Harry blushed again, ashamed of the disgraceful amount of times in the past twenty four hours he’d popped spontaneous boners just thinking about the newly elevated terms.

 

“Can’t believe you would be willing to tattoo the enemy brand on your ass,” Harry managed to say.

 

Louis shrugged and scratched at his well past five o’clock shadow. “Won’t be my first bit of ink.”

 

“The first bit on your ass,” Harry pointed out.

 

Louis sipped at his drink. “And how would you know?”

 

Thank god Harry wasn’t caught taking another sip of his drink or it would have been lucky spit take number three.

 

“You’ve lost bets before, then, have you? My odds keep improving.”

 

“Or I just like showing off my assets.”

 

“What makes you think it’s an asset?” Harry replied, nearly afraid he’d be struck down by a thunderbolt for speaking such blasphemy.

 

Louis laughed so loudly that it echoed off the walls of the pool room, reverberating inside Harry’s chest.

 

“Well, we can’t all be blessed with junk in the trunk,” Harry said in his most snitty voice.

 

Louis was still laughing, but he did manage to say, “No, but never fear...those without impressive trunk space have other selling points.”

 

Louis’ eyes dropped down to Harry’s chest, which flushed again under his gaze. Louis licked his lips and then reached for his glass again.

 

Harry looked down at his own chest and wondered what exactly was special about it, especially compared to the specimen currently slicing its way through the water not even twenty feet away. But Louis was still staring.

 

“So what do you look for...in a car?” Harry dared to ask. It was only fair. Louis had started this line of conversation. 

 

Louis shifted himself a few inches closer to Harry on the bench of the hot tub. He rested his arm along the lip of the tub, fingers dangerously close to brushing the humidity curled tendrils

of Harry’s hair. “Hard to say. It’s about the entire package, isn’t it? Not just trunk space. Or bodylines. Or horsepower. Or all the bells and whistles. It’s got to make you  _ feel _ something,” Louis told him, quickly adding, “when you drive it.”

 

Harry nodded. “Nothing better than getting behind the wheel of a car that excites you when you hit the gas. I like something dependable, sure. Safe. Efficient. But it has to have edge too. I like a little bit of a bite when I rev it up.”

 

Louis snapped his teeth at Harry in jest. “So a Honda doesn’t do it for you?”

 

A sudden splash of cold water came raining down on them with a shock of blonde hair and a set of angry eyes glaring at them from the edge of the pool. 

 

“Hondas don’t do it for  _ anyone _ ,” Niall ground out. And then he disappeared beneath the surface again.

 

“He has a point,” Louis laughed. “I don’t want to be driving something that I pull up next to at every other stoplight. Fucking Jeeps.”

 

Harry chuckled. “Shh. Don’t let Liam here than kind of heresy.”

 

“I laugh in the face of trail-rated danger,” Louis replied haughtily. Even still, he took a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Liam hadn’t heard. No one wanted Liam to suddenly decide that kickboxing was a better work out alternative to his current methods.

 

“So what’s your absolute dream car?” Harry asked. “If you had stupid money. Ferrari kind of money.”

 

Louis waved a hand. “Nah. No supercars for me. I like the classics. Something with  _ style _ ,” he said, wiggling his brows.

 

“Surprised you drive a Camaro then,” Harry quipped.

 

Louis snorted and raised his glass to Harry. “Touché. I love my Camaro, but my real dream car is back home. She only comes out for special occasions.”

 

“Oh?” Harry leaned forward, intrigued at the secret car hidden away in Louis’ garage...wherever that was.

 

“A 1955 Corvette. Gorgeous little beauty. Talk about a classic.”

 

Harry was a firm and forever Ford man, but he could still appreciate a true legend. He whistled appreciatively.

 

“She was my Dad’s,” Louis said, voice quiet. Harry didn’t miss the past tense.

 

“First year to put the V8 engine under the hood,” Harry commented quietly, sensing the reverence of the conversation. “Some say it saved the entire line from being cut from Chevy’s stable.”

 

Louis nodded. “She was handed down to him from his Dad. And now she’s mine.”

 

“She’s your pride and joy.”

 

That same clouded look crossed Louis’ face. “Yeah. I’ve not always done right by her. Couldn’t even stand to be in the garage with her for awhile. After he...yeah.”

 

Harry shifted a bit closer to Louis. His shoulder bumped into Louis’ resting hand, but Louis didn’t pull back. 

 

“Then one night about a year after it happened, sixteen year old Louis got a little too drunk. Thought maybe taking a baseball bat to fiberglass would fix what felt broken in some backwards fucked up logic. It didn’t. But ironically the process of fixing her back up again  _ did _ help. Took a few years...lots of blood, sweat, oil, and tears...and more money than I would like to admit. But she’s fully restored.”

 

“And you?” Harry asked. He didn’t need to know what happened to know that whatever it was had left a lot more damage than just a busted up vintage Corvette.

 

Louis looked up at Harry, face open and eyes clear blue again. “Yeah. I am. That took even more work than the car.”

 

“I think our inner workings are a little more complicated than chassis and transmissions.”

 

“Yeah. A bit.”

 

“So that’s how you got into cars?” Harry asked.

 

Louis nodded. “Dad taught me how to take them apart, put them back together, make them fly. Used everything I learned from him to fix the ‘Vette up. Promised her I would never do anything like that to her again. I took her to her first auto show a few weeks after she was finished. I had just graduated from college and was working at a local auto repair shop. Felt like we were both finally on the right track. It was a celebration of sorts. Got to talking with this friendly older man who was impressed with her and wanted to know who had done the work. Just so happened that he was a Chevy executive. The rest is history.”

 

“She must be a really beauty, your ‘Vette.”

 

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. He looked a little wistful when he continued on. “My Dad always used to say that you know you’ve found  _ the one _ if you turn back around for one more look when you’re walking away.”

 

Harry smiled fondly. “I still turn over my shoulder every time I walk away from my girl.”

 

Louis’ eyes darted toward Harry from where they had been staring off into space. His mouth popped open and his brows furrowed.

 

“I thought...I mean, aren’t you…”

 

Harry blinked at Louis, confused. “My Mustang. Don’t you look at your Camaro that way? Or your Corvette?”

 

“Oh,” Louis breathed out, seemingly nodding to himself. He relaxed further into the warmth of the water and then rubbed wet hands over his face. “Yeah. Of course.”

 

Harry hummed. “Well...my journey into the auto world isn’t quite as captivating.”

 

Louis shook his head minutely. “I think you’re plenty captivating.”

 

Harry had to take another sip of his drink as he swallowed that sentence. With a flutter in his chest he quickly went on, “I’ve just always loved them. Ever since Matchbox. I loved the shine and the smell and the sound.” He looked down at his lap, “I was never like the other kids...the other boys.”

 

“I think maybe you and I were alike in that sense,” Louis replied softly.

 

Harry bit his lip. “Yeah. Well, being different isn’t exactly an easy road to travel when you come from small town middle America. No matter how fast the car is you’re taking down that road. Eyes full of judgement. Horrible hateful words hissed under breath. High school is hard enough without a target on your back. But being able to get away for awhile, get behind the wheel and just blast down some corn-lined highway...that felt a whole lot like the freedom I desperately wanted.”

 

“Ah. And now the Mustang makes sense. Wild and untameable. Like your curls,” Louis teased, finally reaching out to tug one.

 

Harry smiled. “One west coast marketing degree, a post grad Ford Motors internship, and countless hours proving myself later...and here I am. Free.”

 

“And behind the wheel of a Mustang.”

 

“About to kick your heavy Chevy ass.”

 

Louis’ head fell back again in what Harry was quickly finding to be his favorite Louis laugh. Not that he was categorizing them or anything.

 

A holler echoed around the room, pulling Harry and Louis’ attention from where it had been fixated on one another. Niall had jumped on Liam’s back mid stroke, nearly drowning the poor man trying to get in his cardio. Liam was subsequently trying to drown Niall in retribution, shoving his blonde head underwater. Niall was losing the battle...until he decided losing his drawers was a good way to gain the advantage.

 

A pair of bright orange swim trunk went flying up into the air, landing with a slap half way across the pool.

 

“No!” Liam cried, letting go of Niall and covering his eyes. “Put the churro away!”

 

“Not until you admit defeat!” Niall crowed, swimming around Liam in triumph. His pale buttcheeks looked even more stark under the surface of the water. Harry prayed he didn’t start doing the backstroke.

 

With all the attention on Niall, no one saw the Porsche rep leaving the sauna. He hooked his foot in the water across the pool and fished out Niall’s swim trunks that had drifted away. With a none too pleased expression, he tossed them back across the pool toward Niall. He took a quick look at Liam, still panting with exertion from his workout and the fight, then gracefully swept out of the room. He left them all staring after him in awe...or in Liam’s case, adoration.

 

The second Niall shimmied himself back into his trunks, Liam shoved the top of his head back under the water with a vengeance.

 

Amidst the commotion, Harry leaned forward, so close to Louis that only steam could snake it’s way between them. He tapped a finger over the dip in his sternum between his collar bones, drawing Louis’ eyes to the spot. “Right here,” he whispered. “The Chevy bow tie. If you win.”

 

Louis reached a hand up, fingers drawn to the patch of skin. Before they made contact, he pulled back. With a shuddery breath, he slid back away from Harry. He picked up his glass and drained the melted remnants, ice clinking against his teeth.

 

“Showing off  _ your _ assets,” Louis murmured.

 

“Thought you said you look for the whole package,” Harry quipped.

 

“I do,” Louis answered simply. “And like I also said, I’ll know I’ve found it when I always need one more look.”

 

Harry watched as Louis lifted himself from the tub, water sluicing off his golden skin in rivulets that Harry wished he could trace with his finger tips...or his lips.

 

With a nod at the pair still roughhousing in the pool, he grabbed a towel and headed off towards the door. 

 

But before he pushed it open to leave, he glanced over his shoulder and met eyes with Harry. It held for a moment, that undivided gaze. Even from across the room, Harry could see the corner of Louis’ mouth twitch up.

 

With a heavy groan, Harry hefted himself out of the hot tub and stumbled to the main pool. He threw himself into the startlingly cold water. Steam was rising from his skin when his head broke the surface. The shock of the water did little to cool the boiling blood in his veins or the burning patch of skin on his chest that might soon carry the enemy’s brand. The only problem was that those enemy lines were getting more and more blurry each day. But Harry would do what he always did. He would race. He would win. And he would stay free. Because that’s what it was to be a Mustang. A long unending road. No one’s company but his own.

 

Before he could try to climb from the pool, Niall lunged at him. He shoved Harry’s head down under the water, dunking him. 

 

Harry came up spluttering, curls soaked and heavy. “What was that for?!”

 

Niall glared at him. “You know why, baby Tarzan,” he muttered before he started to back stroke away. “Swear to God. Not enough junk food in the world to compensate my struggles.”

 

Liam, it seemed, had finally ended his workout. He waded up to Harry’s side, panting and flushed. “Do you think he saw me?” Liam asked anxiously, “Do you think he was impressed?”

 

Harry saved Niall the trouble and dunked Liam’s head under water himself.


	7. Day Eleven

Harry knew it was bad news when he saw Nick darting his way through the crowd of Ford employees preparing for the day with a panicked look in his eyes. His hand was flailing in the direction of the dyno where the GT350 was poised and ready to go for a day of demonstrations. The crowds were set to enter the McCormick Place in twenty minutes. Now was not the time for shit to go wrong.

 

“It won’t start,” Nick gasped when he finally made his way to Harry.

 

“What won’t start?” Harry asked, stomach dropping out his ass. Today the local news station was supposed to come through their exhibit to do a piece on the Ford lineup in connection with the charity work Harry had been in charge of setting up over the past few years prior to taking over a more executive position in marketing. He’d been very proud of it and wanted more exposure for both the charities and the Ford brand. Ford’s showing today had to be perfect. Especially since the draw over at the damn Chevy display had been so overwhelming...and only growing as the show went on.

 

“The fucking GT!” Nick yelped, earning a few concerned eyes from their staff. Harry grabbed hold of Nick’s upper arm and dragged him over to the GT350 where a herd of mechanics were fiendishly working over the car. The fruits of their effort made the beautiful Mustang sound like Niall’s broken down piece of shit truck that was going to end up being a permanent fixture of the parking lot if the numerous jumps from Harry’s Mustang stopped successfully reviving it.

 

“Status?” Harry asked their lead mechanic.

 

He shook his head. “Transmission. I can fix it, but it won’t be ready for the first demonstration of the day. Need to go get the parts and get it off the dyno. When does the news crew get here?” 

 

“When doors open,” Harry groaned. “Are you sure you can’t have it fixed?” 

 

The mechanic gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry boss. We’re gonna have to put another car on the dyno until we get this one repaired. We’re barely even gonna have enough time for the change out. Which car do you want up there?” he asked.

 

Harry looked around at the contingency of Mustangs they had brought with them. None of them were as impressive as the souped up GT350. None of them had the horsepower to make an exciting display. Any Pony enthusiast would know and be completely let down if it wasn’t the biggest, baddest ‘Stang in the stable on display when they let the engine rip.

 

“We don’t have another GT350,” Nick said, face paling. “We’re fucked.”

 

As the crew around him started to panic, Harry was already envisioning the headlines of the looming article. 

 

_ Ford falls short. Chevy rises. _

 

Right under the fictional headline in Harry’s head was the image of Louis with that smug smirk, leaning against the hood of his god awful green Camaro. Harry would not lose the publicity today. And he would not lose the race at the end of the auto show. Not to Chevy. Not to Louis Tomlinson.

 

“Not on my god damned watch,” Harry muttered. From his pocket, he pulled out his keys and marched off toward the escalators leading down to the underground lot. Over his shoulder he called out to the mechanic, “Have the freight elevator ready. I’m bringing up the replacement.”

 

Twenty minutes later, just as the crowds were starting to be let in, Harry was standing in front of the dyno, face to face with his baby girl up on the platform, fierce like a stormy blue sky under the lights. He could see the camera crew from the news station talking to the Ford executive who had flown in especially for this feature. Harry’s job was supposed to have been shepherding them around to get all the information and shots they needed for their piece, but now that was some other underling’s job. Instead, Harry was going to do the dyno demonstration for the Mustang. He couldn’t bear to let anyone else get behind the wheel of his car, so it was up to him to put pedal to the metal. 

 

The crowd around the platform was already twenty people deep on all sides with the camera crew set up right in front for an optimal film angle. Harry was nervous, palms sweating as he thought about the prospect of being in front of the camera instead of the one behind it directing where the shots should be. 

 

When the Ford executive with the press team gave Harry the signal to begin, Harry looked at Nick and whispered, “I can’t do this.”

 

Nick didn’t need to tell him that he had no choice, he just gave him an encouraging pat on the back and nodded his head at the stage. With a deep, shuddering breath, Harry ascended the stage and took the proffered microphone from one of the crew members. He tried not to lose his lunch as he looked out over the swarm of eagerly awaiting Ford fans.

 

“Um. Hi everyone!” Harry called, instantly drawing the microphone back from his face when his amplified voice cracked over the speakers. He fought the flush of embarrassment and tried to adopt his best stage persona despite his shaking hands. It was much hotter under all these lights, and now not only were his palms sweating, everything else was too. He tugged at the collar of his blue Ford polo. “Welcome to the 2018 Chicago auto show. Here at Ford we’ve got so many exciting things to share with you this year. Just a few weeks ago, we unveiled the brand new F-150, set to be America’s top performing truck in 2018. All across the board, our vehicles are paving the way into the future both in form and function. With groundbreaking new technology and a stunning blend of style and luxury, Ford is revolutionizing the way we define transportation.”

 

He looked over at the news crew filming his every word and then back out to the crowd. Did it keep growing, or was it his just his overactive imagination? The hundreds of eyes on him made him feel faint. He reached out a hand and braced himself against the hood of his car, letting her cool steel comfort him. He just needed to get behind the wheel and away from all this attention. Just like he had always done.

 

“Not only do we rule the road, we’re re-defining the role of the automotive industry in social activism and awareness to help strengthen and expand communities around the country. Like Ford, organizations such as Highway for Hope are at the forefront of changing the world, and we are proud to be their partners. We rule the roads, why not pave the way for more of them to bring us all together.”

 

The crowd cheered and Harry’s shoulder lightened just a bit. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he wasn’t such an utter failure. Then he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd.

 

“Um…” Harry’s words suddenly vaporized, all that brief glittering confidence deflating like a pierced balloon. He was left standing up on the stage with the microphone and not a damn thing to say into it. 

 

Nick was about to start flailing again, Harry could tell. He was looking up at the stage, pleading with Harry to just say  _ something _ and stop looking like a deer in the headlights. But Harry was helpless. The only words he could find were more article headlines, each one more disparaging than the last.

 

From the crowd, a voice called out, “Quit the yapping, let’s see what you’re packing! Pony up, ponyboy!”

 

Harry looked over at Louis, whose hands were still cupping his mouth after his outburst. Louis shot him a wink. It was enough to yank Harry right back in the moment. This, he knew how to do. He could trade words with Tomlinson.

 

“You wanna see what we’re packing, huh?” Harry asked, focus only on Louis. The crowd immediately roared to life, thriving off the challenge. Louis pushed forward through the crowd until he was right at the front, just a few feet away from the camera crew. He was wearing a polo, similar to the one Harry was wearing, just with the Chevy bow tie on the breast pocket. He stood with his feet squared and his arms crossed over his chest, proud as a peacock.

 

“I wanna see what’s under that hood, yeah,” Louis answered, quirking an eyebrow. “Show me what you got.”

 

Harry knew he was going off script. He knew this could blow up in his face. But he couldn’t resist.

 

“Alright then, why don’t you come up here, and I’ll show you.”

 

The look on Louis’ face told Harry that it was exactly what he wanted to hear. Without hesitation, he ducked under the rope divide and ascended the stage. Instead of standing at Harry’s side, he circled the Mustang, studying it with a shrewd eye, tapping his chin contemplatively. And then...he circled Harry in the exact same way.

 

The crowd was eating it up. They were cheering like rabid grade schoolers about to witness a playground scuffle. Harry was feeling faint again.

 

Louis stepped closer, chin up in the air, nearly chest to chest with Harry. “You gonna take me for a ride?”

 

Ever the gentleman, Harry opened the passenger door for Louis with a flourish.

 

“My saddle’s waiting,” Harry replied, only loud enough for Louis over the stirring of the crowd as he lowered himself gracefully into the shotgun seat.

 

Harry spared a quick glance over at the camera before he made his way around the car to the driver’s seat. His car was already lowly idling, engine warming for the display. It was Harry’s imagination that her hum turned to a purr with Louis inside. Harry took one final deep breath before he slid himself down into her driver’s seat and slammed the door behind him.

 

As soon as he was enclosed within the coupe, the drone of the crowd cut out, leaving just the sound of his car’s engine and the blend of his and Louis’ breath.

 

With one hand on the buttery leather of the wheel and the other on the gear shift, Harry toed the gas pedal down. Immediately she snarled to life. Harry didn’t miss Louis’ shoulders shiver from the corner of his gaze.

 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Louis asked with his eyes on the speedometer. He reached out and let his palm rest over Harry’s hand on the gear shift. Harry squeezed the wheel tighter and pressed down harder on the gas. 

 

Louis’ hand started to trace up Harry’s wrist and over his forearm, fingertips teasing the crease of his elbow. Harry’s breath caught like the hitch of a downshift.

 

“Come on,” Louis murmured. And then his hand was on Harry’s leg. “Faster.”

 

Harry soared past third gear, then slammed into fourth. As the speedometer climbed, so did Louis’ hand on Harry’s thigh.

 

The belt beneath the back wheels raced to keep up with the tires. The faint smell of burning rubber permeated the cabin. Over it, Harry caught the delicious tones of Louis’ cologne, and the sharp tinge of his own sweat. It smelled like sex. Hot, heady and explosive. Injected nitrous through the fuel line.

 

As the Mustang neared top gear at 150mph, sound near deafening, Louis leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear. His hand was still teasing the juncture between Harry’s thigh and torso. 

 

“If you win the race, I’ll let you fuck me over the hood of this car. Does that get your engine redlined?”

 

They both looked down at Harry’s crotch, mere millimeters from Louis’ fingers.

 

“Looks like it does,” Louis answered for himself. 

 

Harry’s hand slipped on the gear shift and the engine ground in an ugly screech. Harry immediately hit the brakes and stopped this from going any further. As it was, he was not going to be able to get out of this car without giving the crowd and cameras a look at his own shifter stuck at top gear.

 

“And if you win?” Harry wheezed.

 

Louis’ fingers just barely grazed Harry’s zipper. “Don’t see why my hood wouldn’t do the trick just as well.”

 

And that was it. Harry’s body stalled out. Louis lifted his hand away and patted the dash before he was up and out of the car.

 

Harry caught one final look at his back side as he levered his way out of the car and groaned, smacking his head back against the headrest. Harry stared out the front window and thought of what Louis’ ass would look like bent over that long, sweeping hood. What it would sound like to hear slick skin sliding against aluminum. Hot metal and even hotter flesh under his hands. 

 

The crowd was cheering now and Louis only riled them up more when he stuck his tongue out and blew a very professional raspberry back at Harry in his Mustang.

 

Even that little peek of tongue had Harry wondering how it would taste, what it would sound like to have it moaning his own name, whispering filth, begging him to go  _ faster _ .

 

The sharp rap of knuckles against the driver’s side window had Harry nearly jumping out of his seat belt. Nick was looking down at Harry with an amused quirk to his brows.

 

Harry rolled down the window, but made no moves to exit the vehicle. 

 

“Engine needs to cool down,” Harry explained, fidgeting in his seat.

 

“Oh I’m sure,” Nick replied.

 

Harry sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and looked back over the hood. Louis was descending the stairs. Once again, he threw a look back over his shoulder at Harry before he was swallowed up by the crowd.

 

Harry vowed that the next time Louis looked back at him over his shoulder, he’d be naked and sprawled out across the hood of this Mustang. 

 

“Did we get the footage we needed?” Harry ground out, finally hitting the ignition button to turn the car off.

 

Nick patted the top of the car. “Yep. Exec is absolutely thrilled. I don’t know how you got Tomlinson to play along, but there’s nothing that sells more than a little friendly rivalry.”

 

“Sex,” Harry blurted out without thinking.

 

“What?” Nick barked out a laugh.

 

“Sex sells. More than rivalry. More than anything.”

 

Nick nodded thoughtfully. “Well, then I guess you gave them a little taste of that too.”

 

In Harry’s pocket, his phone buzzed against his hip. He shuddered at the feeling so close to where he was already sensitive and desperate.

 

It was two race car emojis with the words **Sunday** and **Midnight** in separate text bubbles beneath it, punctuated by a checkered flag, ever dramatic.

 

\-----

 

Harry got another text just as he was about to lose his mind over the fact that the stakes for the bet had now escalated to actual dick on dick action. 

 

**Meet me in the back of the Odyssey.**

 

Harry didn’t question it. He just started stalking towards Honda’s display, taking the long way around so he wouldn’t have to pass Chevy’s. It had taken him a full half hour sitting in his Mustang before he was able to will away his boner. He was pretty positive that even a glance of Louis’ ass would have it back to full mast again. He was trying to keep himself under control. This was a  _ family show _ after all.

 

The show about to go down on Sunday at midnight certainly wouldn’t be.

 

With sweat no doubt staining the back of his polo between his shoulder blades, Harry rounded on Honda’s fleet. The Odyssey was easy to spot, being one of Honda’s staple vehicles. Harry walked around towards the trunk and popped it open. Niall was laying on his back with the third row seats down, staring up at the roof of the car with a churro in his hand. He looked upside down at Harry when the door opened and smiled. 

 

“Welcome to my office,” Niall said.

 

Harry looked into the van and saw a young couple testing it out sitting up front, seemingly unbothered by the fact that one of the brand reps was laying in the back. Niall took a bite of his churro and patiently waited as Harry pushed down a full blown panic attack. Eventually, Harry gave in and crawled into the trunk beside his possibly unhinged, possibly brilliant friend and colleague. The jury was still out.

 

“So…” Niall prompted around a half-masticated mouthful.

 

Harry took a shaky breath. “It’s progressed...the bet.”

 

Niall hummed contemplatively. “You mean the pathetic excuse for you two to shamelessly flirt with one another?”

 

Harry fish-mouthed for a minute before he could even find words. “What do you…”

 

“Harry, you are about as subtle as one of your F-150s.”

 

“I am not that bad!”

 

“I could hear you whimpering all the way from over here at Honda, bud. Thankfully it was covered by the horrible grinding of your Mustang’s gears. A little birdie told me that a certain competitor’s point man crashed your demo.”

 

“You mean Liam told you?” Harry guessed.

 

Niall clicked his tongue. “My lips are sealed. I have a highly organized and widespread network of spies, Harry. I have eyes  _ everywhere _ .”

 

Harry gave Niall an unimpressed look. 

 

Niall caved. “Okay, so I may have had to field a similar conversation not even five minutes ago in this very same minivan from the other half of your little bet. Worried he may have pushed things too far.”

 

Harry’s hand brushed across the felt fabric lining the floor and he shivered, thinking of Louis in this same space...same state...only moments ago.

 

“Harry,” Niall pushed carefully, poking him with his churro to get his attention. “Did he take it too far? Is this something you don’t want?”

 

That single question had Harry unloading an entire truckload of doubt on Niall, a stream of words and worry pouring out of him in a breathless rush. “But what if this is something  _ he _ doesn’t want, Niall? Or what if he doesn’t really  _ know _ what he wants? What if I want something else? Something  _ more _ ? What happens if I win the bet, but then lose anyway?”

 

Niall’s eyes went soft. “What do you stand to lose?”

 

“My freedom,” Harry whispered.

 

Niall snorted. “Bullshit, Harry. We’re not in the movie  _ Braveheart _ . We’re in the back of a fucking Honda. That’s not the problem and you know it. Your problem isn’t that you’re afraid of losing your freedom. You’re afraid of _ giving up _ your freedom and then getting it thrown back in your face by someone who cares about their  _ own _ freedom more than they care about you.”

 

“And what if that’s what happens with Louis?” Harry asked desperately. “What if all he wants is just...to win? What if he doesn’t want…”

 

_ Me _ .

 

Niall sighed. “You never listen when I talk, do you?” he muttered, jamming another bite of churro in his mouth. When he went on, cinnamon and sugar went spraying everywhere. “Camaro? Friend? Ring a bell? He’s not a Mustang, Harry. That’s where you’re getting this twisted. And you know what? I don’t think you want to be one either anymore.”

 

“What else would I be?”

 

“I dunno, maybe just  _ Harry _ ,” Niall said with a shrug. “What’s wrong with that? Louis certainly seems to be interested in  _ that _ .”

 

“But he made the bet. He set the terms. Sex is what he wants.  _ All _ he wants.”

 

“And a few days ago all he wanted was a sticker on your bumper. Who knows what he’ll want tomorrow...what you’ll want? Isn’t it maybe worth finding out?”

 

“Then I have to win,” Harry said stubbornly.

 

Niall shook his head fondly. “Do you? And what happens if you don’t?”

 

“We still…” Harry stopped suddenly, realizing that, win or lose, the outcome was going to be the same.

  
Niall nodded, a smile blooming across his face.

 

“So I guess the race  _ doesn’t _ really matter, does it, oh wise one?” Harry said, his own small hopeful smile beginning to spread.

 

“Oh, you’re damn well going to have the race, regardless of the outcome,” Niall insisted suddenly. “Don’t you dare think you’re getting out of it just because you’ve had some kind of redline induced revelation. I’ve been hyping up this race for two weeks now. I’ve got police blocking off streets for it. I’ve even got a checkered flag to wave. There’s a lot of money riding on it, I’ll have you know. Your ass is going to be on that starting line at midnight on Sunday if I have to drag you there myself by your stupidly gorgeous horses’ mane,” he said, yanking on one of Harry’s curls.

 

“Niall! You bet money on my love life?!” Harry cried.

 

From the front seats, the wife of the couple that had been checking out the minivan whispered to her husband, “I’m rooting for the cute curly haired one. And I don’t even know who he’s racing.”

 

Niall answered, “Go check out his competition over at Chevy. It’s a tough call. Both equally hot and hopelessly smitten with one another.”

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry groaned. Niall offered him half a churro in repentance. Harry shoved it away with a glare. 

 

As Harry crawled out of the Odyssey’s trunk, he heard Niall quietly tell the couple, “If you  _ do _ want to place a formal monetary bet, come find me later near the Civic. After Styles nearly destroyed his gearbox earlier today, odds are in Tomlinson’s favor.”

 

“Hey!” Harry protested again.

 

“Don’t worry, you sap. My money’s still on you,” Niall told him with a dismissive wave of his hand.

 

“Thanks...I guess,” Harry pouted.

 

“Happy to be of service. Now get out. I’ve got my next life crisis appointment in…” he checked his cell phone and then peeked over Harry’s shoulder where Liam was anxiously waiting a few feet away from the Odyssey. “Ah! Perfect. He’s here now. Step right up, Liam. Let’s settle your drama now. Dr. Honda is here to help.”

 

To the couple in the front of the van, Niall added, “You’re gonna want to stick around for this one, folks. It’s even more of a challenge. Have you been over at Porsche yet?”

 

Both of them nodded solemnly.

 

“Then you know what I’m up against,” Niall replied, then to Liam, “Well, come on! Into the trunk with ya. I do have a day job you know. Harry, be a dear and close the door after us.”

 

Harry figured there weren’t many more words of wisdom he could glean from Honda’s in-house shrink, and by the looks of Liam, he needed his own kick in the ass, so Harry traded places with his friend and slammed the door shut as instructed. Liam looked out at Harry with big puppy dog eyes, one hand pressed to the window, before he was unceremoniously yanked down to the floor by Niall.

 

As Harry walked back over to Ford, he wandered past Chevy’s display, a new found bravery bolstering his stride, and immediately searched for Louis. Harry found him alone this time, standing in front of his Camaro. This wasn’t the same cocky swagger that Harry had grown used to seeing from him. His eyes were stormy, brows drawn and cheekbones sharp. Harry watched as Louis rested his palms against the hood of his car, deep in thought. 

 

Harry didn’t bother him. He had his own thinking to do too. The race was a little more than twenty-four hours away, and Harry had one final stake to raise before the flag went down. It was a lot to risk. All in. But maybe freedom was a worthy wager when there was something even more precious on the table.


	8. Day Twelve

The doors closed at eight on Sunday night, last show-goers filing out with happy smiles and bags of swag from all the brands. When the announcement echoed over the loudspeakers in the venue that the Chicago Auto Show was officially wrapped for 2018, a cheer went up among the staff, with a relieved sigh from the brand reps. It was an end of sorts, but only temporarily so, considering that the next show opened in Texas in only a few short weeks. 

 

Still, that was no reason not to celebrate a job well done, and that was exactly what was in store in the lobby of the McCormick Place.

 

The wrap party was always a boisterous and booze filled affair, even more rowdy than the opening night festivities since there was no call time tomorrow for a long day of work smiling and schmoozing and selling. 

 

To accommodate the crowd of employees working the show, the massive lobby of the convention center was turned into a club of sorts, music playing and alcohol flowing freely with a spread of food set up for the hardworking staff. The beautiful fountain display in the lobby was an impressive centerpiece for the party, earning attention as people congregated around it and mingled.

 

That’s where Harry found himself two hours into the party, watching the jets of water soar into the air. He had already made his rounds, shooting the shit with the other brand reps he’d known for years, and introducing himself to the new faces joining their insular little world. He would usually be four or five shots deep by this point, but he had graciously turned down all requests to join in for rounds of drinks. Things were a little different tonight. This time, instead of alcohol, it was loaded looks from Louis making him tipsy. They orbited each other, just as they had done that first night, all flirty smiles and blushing cheeks. Their little game of chase only heightened as the clocked ticked down to the main event that everyone seemed to be waiting for. Already the buzz about the race was nearly eclipsing the excitement of the show being over. Niall had been one hell of a hype man, taking last minute wagers as he floated around the party with a tray of churro shots that he had brought back by popular — or more likely his own — demand. 

 

While Harry watched the fountain, Niall made his way over to check in on his potential prize winning stallion, probably trying to gauge if he’d need to be pulling any hair as he’d so emphatically promised. 

 

“Ready?” Niall asked, raising a brow. “Or do you need one last pep talk? Lord knows I’ve gotten good at giving them.”

 

Harry looked over at Louis, across the room with Liam, and smiled. “No. I think I’m good, Niall.” When Louis smiled back at him, eyes crinkling in that way they did, Harry said, “I’m ready.”

 

“Aw. My little pony is all grown up,” Niall said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “This calls for a toast.”

 

Instead of a churro shot, Niall offered Harry an actual churro seeing as he needed to keep his blood alcohol level clean for the race. Niall was circulating a tray of those around too, covered in green and blue sprinkles for the occasion. Harry selected a blue one and took a bite.

 

After a minute of chewing he frowned at his friend. “Niall...these are just shitty carnival churros.”

 

Niall gasped in outrage and smacked the churro right out of his hand. Harry watched in shock as it floated away in the water of the fountain, battered around by the jets. “How very  _ dare _ you,” Niall hissed. 

 

Harry could hear Louis cackling across the room. Harry scowled over at him. Louis just raised his own half eaten green churro in the air. He proceeded to obscenely stuff the rest of it into his mouth, deep-throating the dessert so salaciously that Harry considered jumping into the fountain after his now soggy churro just to cool himself off. It was a highly unfair distraction tactic.

 

Louis winked, knowing exactly what he was doing, and then tapped his watch. 

 

_ It’s time. _

 

As if sensing it, Niall called out over the din of the crowd, silencing the room. “To the streets!” he yelled. “And someone bring the churros!”

 

“Are you riding over with me?” Harry asked Niall.

 

Niall shook his head. “Nah. I’ve gotta mark off the finish line at Buckingham Fountain. I’ll just meet you at the starting line with the checkered flag when I’m done.”

 

“Okay,” Harry replied, shrugging while he dug his keys out of his pocket. 

 

As everyone started to file out to the parking garage, Niall waved over Liam, and Harry was disappointed to see that Louis wasn’t with him anymore. In fact, Louis seemed to have disappeared entirely as Harry gave a cursory sweep of the area. Maybe he’d already left?

 

“Liam. Need you to meet the police chief at the starting line by the main entrance to McCormick.”

 

Liam’s eyes widened. “Police chief?”

 

Niall huffed in exasperation. “Yes, Liam. How else do you think I got them to close off a mile and a half of northbound Lake Shore Drive for an illegal street race? Just tell him you’re a friend of Niall’s.”

 

“Sometimes I really do wonder about your actual occupation,” Harry said, going ignored.

 

Liam still looked uncertain about his new responsibility, so Niall took a quick glance around. “Ah!” he exclaimed, grabbing the arm of a passing body and pulling them into his side. “Here. Take this one with you for moral support.”

 

Harry nearly honked out a laugh, looking at who Niall had chosen for Liam’s back up. Before anyone could protest, Niall shoved Liam and the Porsche brand rep toward the doors, both of them stumbling into one another with the force of it. “No detours!” Niall called after them. 

 

As soon as they were out of view, Niall shook his head. “I’ll bet that you won’t be the only one getting action in a car by the end of the night. Fucking in a Jeep,” Niall shuddered. “At least it’s better than fucking in a Honda.”

 

Harry snorted at his devious friend. “I’m not making any bets against you, especially not when I know you only make ones you can win.”

 

“That’s right. I do. And lucky for you, it’s too late for me to change my wager on the race. Now  _ go.  _ Get that W, and then get that D.” He smacked Harry’s ass and then took off for the parking lot.

 

Harry took a last look around the nearly empty lobby as he followed after Niall and still didn’t see Louis anywhere, but he figured he’d see him soon enough....on the starting line.

  
  


\-----

  
  


The crowd was already amassing around the starting line by the time Harry rolled his Mustang up to place, and he knew the same would be true about a mile and a half down the road at the finish line. Everyone was cheering, ready to watch two rival cars - and two rival racers - finally battle it out for the top spot after two weeks of smack talk. If only they knew what else was at stake besides bragging rights and a few dollars crossing hands.

 

Louis had yet to arrive, so Harry waited rather anxiously for his eyesore of a Camaro to make its entrance. Another notable absence was Niall, which only made Liam more stressed based on the way he was tugging at his hair and sweating through his red Jeep t-shirt while he talked with the police chief. Then again, the nervous sweats could also have something to do with the fact that the Model Z kept inadvertently knocking shoulders with Liam in the bustle of the crowd. Harry glanced at the clock on his dash. 11:58pm. The race wouldn’t start without a competitor, and it wouldn’t start without the man to wave the flag.

 

Luckily, one of the two missing parties decided to arrive. Harry knew it the moment the crowd noise rose until he could barely even hear his idling V8 anymore.

 

Harry watched as Louis’ vibrant green Camaro turned the corner and slid out onto Lake Shore Drive like a serpent, headlights cutting through the midnight darkness. He couldn’t help the shiver down his spine as the Camaro circled his Mustang, just as Louis had done on stage yesterday, and then finally came to rest to his left. 

 

The crowd’s “ooooOOOoooOOOooo’s” filled Harry’s cabin when he rolled down his window. Louis rolled his passenger side window down as well, smirking at Harry as he threw his car into park and then revved the engine a few times for good show.

 

“Last chance to back out,” Louis called out to him. His tone was cocky, full of bravado, but Harry picked up on the underlying edge there too. The nerves. The adrenaline. The doubt. 

 

Harry didn’t have doubts anymore, and he didn’t want Louis to have them either.

 

“You’re not getting out of this that easy, Tomlinson. In fact...I’d like to raise the stakes. One last time.”

 

“Oh?” Louis asked, leaning across his center console. 

 

“If I win,” Harry proposed, “I get to take you out to dinner. On a date.”

 

Louis’ breath hitched, and despite the growl of the engines and the roar of the crowd, Harry still heard it.

 

“Is that...what you really want?” Louis asked, eyes locked on Harry with his hands gripping tight on the wheel.

 

“It’s what I’m going to  _ get _ . When I win.”

 

Harry gunned his own engine to punctuate.

 

“And if I win...I get to take you out?” Louis asked.

 

Harry held his breath and nodded.

 

Louis pretended to consider for a moment, then, “Okay. I accept your terms. One date.”

 

Harry shook his head, “I’m not sure I’ll be satisfied with only one.”

 

Louis bit down on his smile. “No? How many dates are we talking here?”

 

“How about we start at infinity and go from there?”

 

Louis’ smile broke, blinding like high beams.

 

“Pretty steep terms.”

 

“If you don’t like them, you better make sure you win.”

 

Louis smiled. “I will...even if I don’t.”

 

The entire auto show, the race had seemed like the culmination...the end of whatever this growing connection was with Louis. But now Harry realized that it was really just the beginning. The starting line. And Harry couldn’t wait for the checkered flag to drop. 

 

Harry glanced over at the police chief, who made a “wrap it up” motion with his hand, standing next to an increasingly anxious Liam. But there was still no black and white flag in sight.

 

The crowd was chanting, stomping feet and clapping their hands. Harry and Louis took turns revving their engines, ready to go. 

 

Where the hell was Niall?

 

Liam looked over at the cars on the starting line, then took a deep breath, puffing his chest out. The brand logo on his chest strained, distorting over his pectorals. He gave a single determined nod, coming to some kind of conclusion...and then stripped the god-damned t-shirt right off his back.

 

The crowd noise reached the threshold for pain. But no one looked to be in more pain than the Porsche brand rep. 

 

Liam strode up to the starting line with a steely expression and his red Jeep shirt in hand.

 

“I’m going to strangle Niall with this shirt when I see him next,” Liam yelled, raising it up in the air like a flag. “Racers ready?”

 

Harry and Louis both flashed their lights. 

 

“3…”

 

Harry gripped his wheel with one hand and the clutch with the other. 

 

“2…”

 

He stole one last look at Louis, who was already looking at him.

 

“1…”

 

Louis smiled, bright and wide. While the finish line might be a mile and a half away, there would be many more starting lines to come. Harry would leave this one with no fear. 

 

“Go!”

 

The red shirt dropped, and Harry hit the gas so hard his front wheels lifted from the ground for a moment. His entire body jolted when the tires slammed back down again, and then he was off. His Mustang shot forward like a cannon, tearing down the pavement and leaving smoke and treadmarks in his wake. He’d done this before, many times. Find a back road and put the pedal to the floor, feel the speed burn through the chambers of his engine like it did the chambers of his heart. There was no better feeling, to be so tenuously in control of such speed. The sound of his engine approaching red line was familiar and well-loved music to his ears.

 

But never before had there been the heat of another engine by his side, blazing just as hot, pushing just as hard. Harry could hear Louis’ Camaro roaring next to him, tone a bit sharper, raspier. Harry had gotten the edge at the launch, all 500 of his car’s horsepower galloping away, but the Camaro was the Mustang’s fiercest competitor for a reason. Within seconds, Louis was neck and neck with Harry, both cars screaming down the street. The crack of their gear shifts were nearly identical as they rocketed away from the crowd at the McCormick Place. Then it was just the two of them and a mile and a half of road. 

 

The sound of their twinned engines reverberated off the buildings on either side as they tore their way to the finish line. Harry didn’t dare a glance over at Louis. He didn’t need to, he could feel him there, keeping pace easily. He may be nothing but a streak of green in Harry’s peripheral, but he was at the very center of Harry’s mind. Harry shifted again, and smiled when Louis did as well seconds later.

 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Harry whispered. 

 

Louis answered by pulling ahead just slightly, front wheels only a few feet in the lead.

 

Soldier Field, the halfway point, passed by in the blink of an eye, and then it was the Museum Campus after that. The skyline rose ahead of them, buildings glowing along the lakefront. Harry wasn’t seeing any of it, because his eyes were on the road in front of him, where Buckingham Fountain, the finish line, was finally in sight. 

 

“Come on,” he pleaded, biting down on his lip as his fingers dug into the soft leather of his steering wheel. His speedometer was pushing at 220mph, the fastest he’d ever dared go on an open road. “Faster.”

 

It was so close, too close for Harry to tell. At the last second, Harry couldn’t help but steal a quick peek and saw that Louis’ gaze was turned too. 

 

They passed Buckingham Fountain at max speed with their eyes locked, just as they’d started the race. Harry’s Mustang finished only inches ahead of Louis’ Camaro.

 

Harry let out a harsh breath as he pumped the brakes, slowing his speed. The smell of fire-hot gasoline and burned rubber filled his head, making him dizzy. The adrenaline had his entire body jittery, every nerve ending alive. But nothing compared to the thrill of knowing he’d won, and knowing that an even better high was soon to follow.

 

Both cars turned slowly once the engines had cooled enough, making their way back to the crowd. Harry patted his steering wheel, proud of what his car had helped him achieve. He rolled down his windows and let the cool night air clear his head. He wanted to be steady when he met Louis...when he claimed his victory.

 

He threw the shifter into park and laughed as everyone descended on the pair of idling muscle cars, cheering and patting any part of the cars they could reach. The group from the starting line must have followed after Harry and Louis, because the crowd kept getting larger. Harry was so surrounded he couldn’t even get out of his car. He had to honk a few times to carve out some space to even open his door. He appreciated the excitement and congratulations, but there was really only one person’s attention he wanted right now. 

 

On still shaky legs, he pushed through the crowd and made his way over to the Camaro’s driver’s side. Louis was out of his car as well, leaning against it with a foot propped up. Behind him, the beautiful plumes of water from Chicago’s prized fountain shot high into the air, illuminated with blue and green lights at the moment. Maybe that had been Niall’s doing as well, Harry wouldn’t be surprised.

 

Louis pushed away from the car when Harry approached. The crowd faded away, a dull hum in the background. They carved out a pocket of space for themselves amidst the chaos, and Harry felt something ease into place, like dust settling after the blast. Harry was pretty sure the shape of his life would be forever changed by this particular deep impact blue.

 

“So you’re taking me on a date,” Louis said casually, tucking his hands in his pockets. He looked down at his shoes, scuffing along the pavement where they were only inches away from Harry’s. When he looked back up at Harry, he smiled.

 

“And I’m driving,” Harry informed him.

 

Louis chuckled. “This time.” Then he called out, “Hey, Zayn!” drawing the attention of the Porsche brand rep who was tucked under Liam’s arm. Liam, still shirtless for whatever reason, looked both dumbfounded and delighted about this development. Niall would probably be just as pleased, although certainly not surprised, if he ever showed up.

 

Louis tossed his keys to Zayn. “Take it back to the garage for me, will ya? It seems I have alternate transportation. My white knight is about to whisk me off on — or rather in — his noble steed,” he said, patting the top of Harry’s Mustang. Zayn gave him a single nod, and then side-eyed Liam. Louis was quick to tack on, “And no! Punk’n Payno cannot go with you. I’m gonna take a black light to my interior tomorrow and I better not find a single drop of unidentified fluid anywhere. Clear?”

 

“You’re no fun,” Harry breathed against Louis’ ear, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

 

Louis leaned into him, hand slipping up between Harry’s shoulder blades. “Oh? Then I guess I shouldn’t tell you that before the race, I may or may not have spent some time in a very cramped bathroom stall at the convention center opening myself up in case I lost.”

 

Harry nearly swallowed his tongue, choking on his own breath.

 

“You’re right. I’m no fun at all,” Louis hummed as he detached from Harry and swayed his hips obscenely on his way around the car to the passenger side.

 

They stared at one another over the roof of the car for a long moment. Harry took a deep breath and said, “Well, since you already went to all that trouble. It would be a waste not to do something about it.”

 

“The date can wait,” Louis agreed.

 

Before Harry could reply, the sound of police sirens started wailing in the not too far off distance. It seemed that only Niall Horan and God himself could shut down Lake Shore Drive, but since the former wasn’t anywhere to be found, their window for fuel injected, high speed crime was over. 

 

Panic erupted around them, people scattering like a scene from Fast and the Furious as they raced for their cars. 

 

“Get in!” Harry called to Louis, throwing open his door and dropping into the seat.

 

“Hey, that’s my line,” Louis shot back as he followed direction, “Hence the lube!”

 

Harry cackled as his Mustang snarled to life. He hit the gas and they were off, racing north on Lake Shore, past Navy Pier, with dark water to one side and bright city lights to the other. 

 

Once they’d gotten a fair distance away, sirens waning, Harry slowed his speed and Louis rolled down his window and let his hand drift on the cool night breeze. He was fidgeting on his seat, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. It was taking all of Harry’s self restraint to keep his eyes on the road and off of Louis sitting shotgun. This was the first time there had been anyone in that seat that was more important than the destination. With a full tank of gas and no obligations tomorrow, Harry wanted to set cruise control and head as far north as north could take them, just the two of them chasing the dawn.

 

But Louis had other ideas. Harry’s fantasies of driving off into the sunrise came to screeching halt when Louis dropped his hand down to his crotch and palmed at himself. He let out a moan and Harry ground through a gear change, praying for mercy. 

 

Louis cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded raspy and broken when he said, “So. There’s a great little breakfast place on the water just past the border into Wisconsin if you’re up for a bit of a drive.”

 

Harry was always up for a drive in his Mustang, but with the addition of Louis into the equation, there was pretty much no contest.

 

“How do you feel about pancakes for a first date?”

 

Harry smiled and bit his lip, a blush rising over his cheeks. “I could go for pancakes. As long as they aren’t churro flavored,” he added with a giggle.

 

Louis snorted. “I can personally vouch for their chocolate chip pancakes, but I hear they make a mean banana variety that might interest you. And don’t worry, it’s a churro free zone.”

 

“Okay. I’m in.”

 

“Good. Now since that’s settled, I’m going to need you to find a spot to pull off because if you don’t get your hands on me soon, I’m pretty sure I’m going to make a mess in these pants, and I’d really rather not ruin your upholstery when I threatened Zayn with his life for the same transgression.”

 

Harry slammed on the brakes and drifted around the first corner he could find, which conveniently took them to Montrose Point. There was a little cove nestled into the lake shore with a few dozen boats safely docked for the night, bobbing gently in the still waters. At this hour, the lookout was deserted, but it offered a beautiful view of the skyline, and was secluded enough to promise privacy. Harry navigated the Mustang around the lookout until they came to the very end of the road. He pulled off onto the gravel roadside and put the car in park.

 

There was a second of quiet stillness when the engine cut, and then they both threw themselves over the center console so desperately that they forgot about their seatbelts, immediately yanked back away from one another. With breathy laughter, they spared only a moment to unbuckle themselves before they were on each other again. Harry’s lips met Louis’ with the force of a car crash, immediately opening so he could see how Louis tasted. 

 

It was frantic, a teenage make out session in a parked car. But Harry had never experienced that particular pleasure during his actual teen years, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have held a candle to  _ this _ . Because Louis was a man. A man with stubble, who smelled like expensive cologne and gasoline. A man with muscle in all the good places, and curves in all the better ones. A man who could  _ kiss _ , who knew how to use his mouth for maximum devastation as readily as he used his foot on the gas pedal. His fingers slid up over Harry’s chest, unzipping his coat so they could find their way beneath to where his skin was burning and sweat damp.

 

Harry pulled back from the kiss to breathe when he started to get light headed, face tipping up to the ceiling of the car, but Louis didn’t waste a kiss, tracking them instead down the line of his throat. When he got to Harry’s collarbones, he pulled the neckline of the Ford polo shirt aside and niped along his flesh, finishing the journey by sucking what would surely be a blooming bruise come tomorrow.

 

Harry blindly reached down and hit the lever to push his seat back. When he had enough room, he hauled Louis straight up over the center console and into his lap. Louis let out a hiss when his knee connected with the gear shifter. Harry was quick to kiss the pain away and then they were right back on track. 

 

Until Harry got a little too eager trying to strip off Louis’ shirt and slammed his hand against the car horn, startling them both.

 

“Jesus. You weren’t lying about a tight fit. Poor design, this is,” Louis murmured, starting to trace patterns with his tongue along the skin he’d just kissed.

 

“Take it up with the big wigs,” Harry moaned as Louis rucked up Harry’s shirt and flicked his tongue over one of Harry’s nipples.

 

“Oh I will,” Louis said, gently setting his teeth into the nipple and tugging.

 

Harry thrashed in his seat at the pain laced pleasure, smacking the horn again.

 

“I thought it was just our hormones we had poor control over,” Louis teased, moving onto the other nipple. “I guess limbs fall in that category too.”

 

“I’m going to have a hard time controlling something else if you don’t hurry up and get your pants off,” Harry groaned.

 

Louis let Harry’s shirt fall down over his now sensitive nipples and braced his hands on Harry’s shoulders. He ground his hips down against Harry’s crotch, both moaning at the sharp burst of sensation. Harry bucked his hips up automatically, chasing the pleasure, and Louis swore. Unfortunately it was because he’d smacked his head on the ceiling.

 

“Shit, sorry,” Harry breathed, laughing as he laid his lips in the dip between Louis’ collarbones, the perfect little place for kisses.

 

“Maybe I should fasten your self belt again. Keep you still,” Louis mused while Harry reached a shaky hand up to brush at the crown of Louis’ head where he’d banged it. They would both be a mess of bruises by daybreak at this rate.

 

As intriguing as that idea was, Harry tabled bondage to explore on another day and instead offered, “I think I have a better idea. Well... _ you _ had a better idea.”

 

He put a hand on the door handle, but before he opened it, he arched a brow in quiet question.

 

Louis smirked and placed his hand right over Harry’s as they opened the door together.

 

Louis climbed out first and then helped Harry wedge himself out of the car, both with disheveled clothes, straining zippers, and kiss red lips. Louis instantly crowded into Harry’s space, stealing his body heat as they kissed while leaning up against the driver’s door. Harry couldn’t even feel the February cold around him because he was so hot for Louis.

 

Louis threaded his fingers through Harry’s and then pulled him toward the hood of the car, still attached at the lips. He put a hand down against its smooth surface and closed his eyes. He pulled back from Harry just enough to sigh, “Engine’s still warm.”

 

Harry brushed the fringe out of Louis’ eyes and pressed one more tender kiss against his cheek before he turned him around so that he was facing the hood of the car. With a gentle hand between his shoulder blades, he pushed Louis down until he was laying over the front of the car with his delectable ass on full display. Louis sighed and melted against the hood, heat from the engine seeping through his clothes. Harry just stopped and stared for a moment, overwhelmed by the view he’d been dreaming about since the beginning of the show. He reached out and reverently cupped one of Louis’ jean clad cheeks, and Louis’ sweaty hands squeaked down the carbon fiber as he pushed back into Harry’s grip. 

 

Harry instantly remembered what Louis had told him about his pre-race activities and nearly choked on his own breath at the mental image. And now he was going to get to see — and feel — for himself.

 

Louis slid a hand into his pocket, from which he produced a travel packet of lube and a condom. He laid them down on the hood at his side and then turned his head so he could look over his shoulder at Harry. “Come and jump on it,” he said with eyes as dark as the icy waters around them.

 

Harry reached the waistband of Louis’ pants and then carefully started to pull them down over his bottom, only exposing what he needed to, even in this mild winter weather. There would be more time — more skin — later, when they could burrow beneath warm blankets and spend hours aimlessly drifting along all the curves of one another’s bodies. Harry was very much looking forward to taking that scenic road, but right now it was about cutting the corners.

  
Louis’ skin shone in the pale moonlight, and even though Harry knew he had to be fast to prevent frostbite from happening in places that it shouldn’t, he couldn’t resist dropping to his knees and placing a kiss on Louis’ right cheek, and then a playful nip on his left one. 

 

Louis pounded his fist on Harry’s hood when Harry’s hot breath ghosted over his opening. 

 

“Careful,” Harry teased. “No dents.”

 

“Same goes for you. Don’t need your incisors branded on my ass.”

 

“Shame that we upped the ante from the ass tat,” Harry said, leaving a playful smack on the very spot he had spent late night hours envisioning decorated by his beloved pony. He wasn’t going to let that fantasy go just yet. They could always make another bet.

 

“I don’t think you’ll be saying that in a few minutes,” Louis replied, shaking his bottom a little bit. 

 

Harry landed another smack to Louis’ bottom to keep him still. Too bad it didn’t work.

 

Harry fumbled with his own zip, pulling it down with shaking hands as Louis writhed against the hood, moaning every time his cock caught the right amount of pressure, still constrained in his pants.

 

The second Harry’s own cock was free of his jeans and underwear, he wrapped a hand around it to keep it from flagging in the cold. Louis’ neck craned back to look, and he choked on his breath at what he saw. While Harry tugged at his cock, Louis tore open the condom with his teeth and handed it back to Harry. Harry was quick to sheath himself, even more eager to bury himself in the heat of Louis’ body, but not before he took a moment to appreciate Louis’ efforts in the convention center bathroom.

 

He coated his fingers in lube and traced a digit around Louis’ entrance, still wet and glistening. Harry groaned when Louis tightened at the feel of his touch.

 

Louis’ breath hitched when Harry pressed in a finger, then two, to be sure. He found Louis’ prostate and brushed his finger across it, not enough and too much all at once. Louis hissed like a turbocharger.

 

“I’m ready. Have been for awhile,” Louis gasped when Harry started to press more firmly, teasing a third finger against his rim.

 

“Me too,” Harry whispered.

 

Harry removed his fingers and then lined himself up, both holding their breaths as they waited for the breach. Harry pressed in as slowly as the waves licked at the shore, and they both exhaled. The sudden heat where there had been cold made Harry break out in gooseflesh, shivering under his layers. He could see the same effect at the small of Louis’ back where his shirt had ridden up. Harry traced his fingers along the dimples at the bottom of his spine and watched in awe as more tiny bumps erupted across Louis’ skin. Harry drove his hips slowly forward as far as he could until there was nowhere left to go. Louis smacked a hand down on the hood and let out a raw moan, breaking in his throat. He clenched around Harry, which only made both of them groan. Harry knew he would not be able to hold himself together if he looked down and put a visual to what he was feeling, so he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to the back of Louis’ neck, waiting for Louis to give him the go ahead. He mouthed at the damp flesh under Louis’ hairline and felt him relax. When Louis nodded, Harry started up a gentle rhythm, but Louis was quick to start bucking back against him. Always pushing, demanding more.

 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Louis simpered, reminding Harry of the race, of all the teasing that had lead up to it. “Come on.”

 

Harry aimed a particularly rough thrust and hit Louis’ prostate dead on.

 

“Faster,” Louis cried out.

 

Harry braced his hands down on the hood of his car and slammed forward, sending Louis sliding upwards, feet lifting off the ground.

 

From there it was another race, but this time Harry knew he wouldn’t win. There had been too much build up, too much anticipation, for him to last. Like a shot of nitrous, he felt the orgasm curling in his groin far too soon. He grit his teeth and tried to stave it off, but when Louis gasped Harry’s name, there wasn’t any prayer in a Hellcat that he could withstand that kind of calling.

 

He shot hot and hard into the condom, knees buckling and body collapsing on top of Louis. He shook as he continued to pulse inside Louis, who was also trembling on the cusp of his own release.

 

As soon as he was done, Harry pulled out, hissing at the feeling. He yanked Louis up against him, plastering himself to Louis’ back while he reached a hand around his chest to keep him upright. With the other hand he shoved the front of Louis’ pants down just enough to get at his cock. Harry took Louis’ rock hard length in his fist until he was sobbing out Harry’s name over and over again, voice lost in the wind.

 

A few strokes later, Louis was coming across the hood of the Mustang. Harry could feel the frantic beat of Louis’ heart and the erratic pull of his lungs. Louis sagged against him, and Harry braced himself on his car to keep them both standing.

 

They were both panting, half clothed and shuddering as the cold started to seep back in. Louis burrowed closer to Harry, turning so that he could tuck his fingers inside Harry’s jacket and rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. While Louis lazily clung to him, Harry saw to cleaning them up. Once they were covered again, decent but still debauched, Harry looked down at the state of his hood.

 

“Well at least it’s not my interior.”

 

Louis reached into his pocket and pulled out a tissue to wipe it away. “We just won’t tell Liam and Zayn.”

 

Harry bent down and pressed a kiss to Louis’ lips. “Next time, we violate your car instead.”

 

Louis shrugged. “Seems fair,” he said, pressing further into Harry’s warmth, humming in content as they continued to trade kisses. 

 

They lazily made out for another few minutes until it got too cold to be outside. Once they were settled back into Harry’s car and on the road again, Louis started fiddling with the stereo system. He hooked his phone up to the auxiliary cord and bit his lip as he scrolled through his music.

 

He grinned when the sultry start-stop rhythm of Ginuwine’s most famous song shook Harry’s speakers.

 

“ _ Ride it, my pony _ ,” Louis sang along.

 

“Those weren’t the terms this time,” Harry told him.

 

“You know...I let you win,” Louis commented as they headed north.

 

Harry reached his hand out and settled his palm on Louis’ thigh, eyes still on the road. “Pretty good consolation prize for second, if you ask me.”

 

“We’ll just have to race again, then. And this time  _ I’ll _ set the terms.”

 

“And what will be the prize for first?”

 

Louis pressed his palm over Harry’s chest, then brushed a soft kiss to his cheek. “More of this. More of everything.”

 

“Okay. You’re on.”

 

“But first...pancakes.”

 

“And first dates.”

 

\-----

 

Beneath the belly of the McCormick Place, a blonde haired man stood in an empty car lot leaning over the hissing, smoking innards of a rusty old pick up truck. In one hand, he held a churro, and in the other, a wrench. A grease covered checkered flag was tucked into his back pocket.

 

“No!” he yelled, kicking a tire as the truck let out its last gasp of life, committing itself to this plot of pavement as its final resting place. “I’m missing Larry!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Comment/Kudo if you'd like, and come say hello on Tumblr too (RealityBetterThanFiction)!
> 
> xoxoxo


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